


All the Roads are Winding

by ShirleyAnn66



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universes, Butchering Science for Shits and Giggles, F/M, Gen, Multiverse, Several Storylines for the Price of One, non-canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 05:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 264,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8737036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyAnn66/pseuds/ShirleyAnn66
Summary: “This experiment should, hopefully, prove the multiverse theory and I was just wondering...Do you think there are people who are destined to be together no matter what universe they’re in?  No matter what paths their lives may take?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Yeah, I wish I owned a Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones. Just taking the characters out to play; no infringement intended. :)
> 
> A/N1: This is my NaNoWriMo fanfic. I had to write it as Jaime/Brienne because they wouldn't leave me the fuck alone - LOL.
> 
> A/N2: Title is from _Wonderwall_ , by Oasis.

*/*/*/*/*

“Do you believe in soul mates?”

Jaime groans.  “Oh, come on, Brienne! It’s late and we’re still waiting to run this fucking experiment!  Can we talk about your love life later?” 

Brienne glares.  “I’m not talking about my love life, you idiot.”

She leans back, rubbing the bridge of her nose. 

“This experiment should, hopefully, prove the multiverse theory and I was just wondering...”  She nervously chews on her bottom lip.  “Do you think there are people who are destined to be together no matter what universe they’re in?  No matter what paths their lives may take?”

Jaime leans back and thoughtfully considers her.  “Not in every universe,” he says and her face falls.  He grins.  “Look, if there truly is a universe for every possible outcome of every decision point in a person’s life, then, obviously, there would be universes where people who are together in one universe never meet in another.”  He cocks his head and considers her, his face softening with sympathy.  “But there would also be universes where we all end up with the loves of our lives.  Who those people are, however, will be different depending on the universe.  You and Renly—”

Brienne winces.  “This isn’t about me and Renly,” she says, but she’s flushed, a sure sign she’s lying.  Jaime chuckles.

“Sure it isn’t.  Look, there are probably universes where Renly isn’t gay and falls in love with you instead of Loras.  But even if there are, _we_ can’t get to them.  We’re stuck where we are.”

Brienne’s face sets into familiar mulish lines.  “If our experiment is successful, then it’s just a matter of time before we _can_ get to them.”

Jaime shakes his head.  “Opening a portal to a different universe at the quantum level is vastly different than sending a human into a different universe.  You know the equations even better than I do!  But keep dreaming, Junior.  It’s amusing, if nothing else.  Are we ready?”

Brienne glances at the computer and shakes her head.  “Almost,” she says.

They’re alone in the control room of the particle accelerator, alone in the entire facility, in fact, and will be for the entire week.  This kind of private access is unprecedented.

It pays to be a Lannister, Jaime thinks smugly.  Money and reputation never fails to succeed.

Plus they and their families have signed every waiver known to man so the people who run the facility can deny responsibility if something goes wrong.  Not that anything will, of course, because they’ve taken every precaution to mitigate the risks.

They’ve chosen this specific particle accelerator located in the desolate North because of the enormous amount of energy it can generate, and for its ability to create an electromagnetic barrier around and over the entire structure.  That electromagnetic field will protect everyone outside of the Wall if anything goes wrong with the experiments.  That protective barrier is why the facility is called the Wall in jest, a reminder of the mythical Wall that once guarded Westeros at this very spot.

Not that the electromagnet barrier will help them _inside_ the Wall. 

And yes, there’s a slim—very slim—chance that they’re going to destroy the facility and everyone in it.  Which is why they insisted they have the entire facility to themselves and have endured two weeks of intensive training on all the safety protocols before being left alone.  Not that they’re really worried.  It’s far more likely the experiments will fail to produce results or—and he can smell the Samwell Prize for Physics already—they will result in definitive, empirical proof of the multiverse.

“Are we ready yet?” he asks again and Brienne rolls her eyes.  Her eyes are her one claim to beauty:  blue and bottomless, sharply intelligent and as guileless as a child’s.  But right now, they’re annoyed and he gives her an innocent smile.

“You can always leave,” she snaps.  “Why should both of us risk death for science?”

Jaime laughs.  “And let you grab that Samwell Prize all by yourself?  Not a hope in the seven hells, Junior.  I’m here until the bitter end.”

Brienne’s glare only sharpens.  “Fine, but stop whining about it!  You’re worse than a child on a road trip!”

Jaime’s grin only widens.  “Are we there yet?” he whines in a high-pitched, child-like sing-song.  “Are we there yet?  Huh?  Huh?  Huh?”

“Don’t make me kill you, Jaime,” Brienne sighs but a smile tugs at the corners of her usually solemn mouth.

“Aw, would you miss me when I’m gone?”

“It would be tough to explain away your lifeless body if we _don’t_ blow this place up tonight.”

Jaime just laughs again.

Brienne rolls her eyes.  She glances at the computer and abruptly straightens in her chair.  “It’s ready.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime scrambles to his feet to stand behind her, peering intently at the computer screens.  He immediately morphs from teasing-Jaime to serious-physicist-Jaime and Brienne envies—again—his ease in moving from one to the other.  No matter what she does, she’s always serious-Brienne, uncomfortable in her own skin, who had pined for one man who’s gay and is pining now for another man who’s so far out of her reach, she can only see him with the Luwin telescope.

She risks a glance over her shoulder at Jaime and allows herself to momentarily admire his far-too-handsome face.  If this week of experiments is successful, they’ll write their paper, accept their Samwell Prize, and go their separate ways.  When she thinks on it, she finds it oddly thrilling that if they’re successful, their names will forever be linked in history.  A shiver runs down her spine, and then she, too, becomes serious-physicist-Brienne.  Her reactions to Jaime Lannister are unsettling and sometimes painful and she doesn’t always understand them; but physics... _physics_ she understands.

She turns away from the annoying man and says, “Ready?”

He leans over her, so close she can smell his cologne and laundry detergent and _him_ , and suddenly wishes with all her heart that she could find a universe where he doesn’t exist and escape there.

His strong hands grip the back of her chair.

“Ready,” he says.

She hits enter.

*/*/*/*/*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Background Jaime/Cersei.
> 
> **A/N:** These first two chapters were intended to be one chapter, but I decided it was less confusing to break them apart. :) Future updates won't be nearly this quick - LOL.
> 
> Also: this is unbetaed. All mistakes are mine alone.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne walks into the bedchamber, her skin clammy beneath the dress the sneering ladies of the court had crammed her into and called her wedding gown.  Behind her is Prince Jaime Lannister, her— _gods_ —her new husband.

He looked as unhappy as she did in the sept and now she risks a glance at his thunderous face—beautiful, yes, but his rage makes it cruel, and Brienne—for all her size and skill and masculine appearance—trembles at the sight, suddenly remembering all the stories her septa had told her about what to expect in the marriage bed if her father ever managed to find someone stupid enough to accept her as his wife.

Well, Jaime looks far from stupid, and this marriage was forced upon them both in order to forge a lasting peace between her father’s Stormlands kingdom and King Tywin’s Westeros.

The war between their kingdoms had been long and bloody, with King Selwyn unexpectedly inheriting the Stormlands throne earlier this year.  She herself bore scars from the war on her face, on her body, and on the softest parts of her heart.  She had learned to wield a sword as a child and when the war began, she left to join—and eventually lead—her countrymen in battle.  She had been in the battlefield for several years before her father became King and she, a Princess.

_Princess._

The title did not sit well on her mannish shoulders, but neither does ‘Queen’, and that is exactly what she will be once King Tywin dies, and twice over when her own father is gone.  That had been the bargain King Selwyn and King Tywin had struck:  this marriage would eventually merge their kingdoms into one and end the wars once and for all.

Prince Jaime’s green eyes are cold and she almost feels them rake her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, thankfully hidden beneath the ill-fitting gown.  The terms of peace had been agreed and the marriage arranged and performed in a matter of days, and if the whispers are true about Prince Jaime and his twin sister, Princess Cersei, then Brienne understands why the wedding was so rushed.

Jaime’s mouth twists into a sneer.

“Stop looking so terrified, Your Grace,” he says with bitter mockery, “I am only waiting until the nattering crowd disperses and then I shall leave you to your own devices.”  His sneer now has a tinge of grief to it.  “There is another bed I prefer to be in.”

Brienne catches her breath and she lifts her chin.  “So, the stories are true, then?” she says.

Jaime’s smile is cruel.  “My sister is the most beautiful woman in the world, and we love each other.  Of course the stories are true.”

“She is your sister!”

“Have I disgusted you?” Jaime purrs.  “Good.  You disgust me by simply existing and I am even more disgusted by our fathers for forcing this union upon us.”

Brienne’s heart cringes beneath his cutting words but she straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin.  “Go to your sister, then, Your Grace, and take your pleasure in her body.  But know that if such a relationship continues, your line will end with you.”

Jaime’s eyes widen.  “Are you threatening to kill me?” he asks incredulously.

“Of course not,” Brienne snaps and wonders where she’s finding the courage to speak so sharply.  With a sword in her hand, she would feel no fear for she could defeat the man in front of her ten times over—of that she has no doubt—but this is a war of words and a war for her future.  These stakes feel a hundred times greater than any moment she faced the enemy on the battlefield.

“Then what, exactly, are you threatening?” Jaime growls.

“I am saying this marriage shall remain unconsummated and I shall give you no children so long as you continue to lay with your sister.  And no, before you ask it, I shall never acknowledge any child you may have with your sister nor pretend it is mine.”

Jaime’s face is expressionless as he stares at her.

“You are the last of your family as well,” Jaime says slowly.  “You are willing to let your own line die just to spite me?”

Brienne’s smile is cool.  “Unlike you, Your Grace, I can easily have a child and claim it as yours.  ‘Tis easier to lie about the father of a child than it is to lie about the mother.”

Jaime’s eyes narrow.  “You wouldn’t dare,” he growls.

Brienne’s gaze never wavers.  “Do you wish to test me?”

“And what if I stay and bed you tonight?  I could get you with child and then flee to my sister’s arms.”

“So you could,” Brienne says calmly, “and I’m surprised you are bright enough to think of it.  But I have no more desire to bed you than you have to bed me.”

“I could force myself on you.”

She smirks at that.  “You could try,” she says, “but I doubt your sister will have any use for you if you’re gelded.”

Jaime glares.

“Princess Cersei is to be wed—again—on the morrow and she and her new husband will leave immediately after,” Brienne says briskly, “but I am not a cruel woman.  Go to your sister, if it pleases you, but tell her it will be the last night the two of you will share.  I have not fought so hard for my realm to simply be a downtrodden wife, even if the world calls me Queen.”

“And I have not fought so hard for _my_ realm to simply be a downtrodden husband, even if the world calls me King.  I love my sister.  I will never love you.”

“I don’t need you to love me,” Brienne snaps.  “I demand you respect me.  So long as you are not faithful to the vows you made in front of the Seven, then I shall give you no children that are yours by blood.”

“As if you can find any man who would fuck you,” Jaime sneers.

“There are many who will want to fuck the Queen no matter what she looks like,” Brienne sneers in reply.  She strides across the bedchamber to the door opposite the one they entered through.  She opens it and finds a dressing room and another door that she hopes leads to her private bedchamber.  She turns to look at her new husband.  There’s no doubt he’s beautiful and no doubt he will never love her, but she will have his respect even if she will have nothing else.

“Enjoy your evening, Your Grace,” she says with a mocking bow, and walks into the dressing room, closing and locking the door behind her.  Thankfully, she had guessed correctly regarding the second door.  She locks herself inside her private bedchamber then walks, trembling, to the bed and throws herself on top of it.

This marriage is doomed to failure, she thinks in despair.  She only prays the need to maintain the peace between their kingdoms will be enough to keep her alive.

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne blinks and she’s looking again at the computer screens showing the real-time results of the still-running experiment.  She sways beneath a sudden feeling of vertigo._

_She sees the control room but she also still sees the rough-hewn stone ceiling of her bedchamber.  The chill of the castle has raised goosebumps on her flesh, and her despair and fear of the future with the man she’d married makes her wish she could weep._

_The man she married—she abruptly turns to Jaime, who is still leaning over her shoulder.  He looks as stunned as she feels, his eyes wide and confused, and he opens his mouth—_

*/*/*/*/*

The distant roar of a motor reaches Brienne’s ears and she slowly straightens from where she’s working in the garden.  She looks down the dirt road, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, beating down on her head.  It’s been as dry as the local septon’s sermons and she hopes she’ll be able to tease enough from the garden to keep them fed over winter.  She can hear the crops withering if she stops and listens hard enough.

The vehicle looks like a car, glinting gold beneath the dust pluming behind it.

“Idiot,” she mutters, and turns back to her garden.  Hopefully the idiot won’t spin out of control until long after they’ve gone past her farm.  She had to let the phone go last month and their nearest neighbour is over two miles away.

Then the car—sleek and new—turns into her yard, gravel spitting out behind it, and she abruptly straightens again, staring. 

There is only person she knows who takes corners with that degree of recklessness.  But he’s been a long time gone, she sternly reminds her suddenly leaping heart.

She hurries towards the house where the car has skidded to a halt.

She sees her little sisters scamper outside and the car door opens.  Out steps a man who even from this distance is still handsome enough to take her breath away.  The hot sun glints off his golden hair and she stops in her tracks.  She stares, her heart racing, and she doesn’t know if she should laugh or cry or grab her shotgun and run him off her property.

He greets her sisters with a lazy smile then turns to look at her, and even after all this time, those green eyes still make her knees weak and sends flames shooting through her.  She grinds her teeth and forces herself to start walking again.

His smirk is amused, his eyes alight with familiar teasing.

“Aren’t you pleased to see me, Stretch?” he says.

“Not when you still call me Stretch,” she growls.  “What are you doing here, Jaime?”

“Is that any way to greet your best friend when this is the first time you’ve seen him in five years?”

“Oh?  Were you gone?” she asks with withering sarcasm.

His smirk turns to a grimace and his eyes are pleading now.  “Come on, Brienne—don’t be like that.”

And just like that—just like always—her anger dissipates like early morning dew and all that’s left is happiness and relief at seeing him again.  “You look good, Jaime,” she says softly.

“You look sweaty,” Jaime says but her irritation is fleeting because he pulls her into a tight hug and for a moment—just a moment—she allows herself to revel in the too-long-absent familiar feel of his arms round her.

*/*/*/*/*

_The control room is spinning and it feels so cold after the heat of the sun beating down on his head.  He can still taste the dust in the air, see the shimmering heat waves on the horizon, feel the happiness and fear churning in his gut as he sees Stretch, his best friend, for the first time in years._

_He looks at Brienne’s wild eyes and staggers away from her chair.  His knees give out and he drops to the floor in a crouch._

_“ What—?”_

*/*/*/*/*

“He hangs in three days,” Judge Tarly says, his lip lifted in the slight sneer that always mars his face when he speaks to her.  “If you wish to save his soul, you need to work fast.”  His sneer deepens.  “As if _you_ could save anyone’s soul.”

Brienne simply nods.  His words have long ceased to have any power to touch her.  Three years of ministering to men condemned to death have hardened her heart to many such slights—and to many more things than that, besides.  She has no choice but to harden her heart against the very men she works to support.  She doesn’t know them long, after all—justice is swift in Westeros, especially when rendered by ‘The Hanging Judge’ Randyll Tarly.  He was rumored to have hanged his own son because he thought the boy had abandoned his post in some farflung northern stronghold.

Tarly flicks her away with a wave of his hand.  “Go.  Do your job—even if it is as useless as you are.”

Brienne simply bows and leaves the Judge’s presence.

She strides to the prison building that holds the condemned and makes her way to the cell of the most recent man to be sentenced to die by the Hanging Judge.  She gives the guard an austere nod and pauses outside the cell door to straighten her septa’s robes.  As she does so, she asks the Father for strength, the Crone for wisdom, and the Mother to show her how best to provide the comfort this man will need to walk to the gallows with such bravery and dignity as may still live inside him.

This prisoner is not her only charge, here in the most notorious prison in Westeros.  The condemned currently number ten, but there are three men scheduled to hang this afternoon.  In her three years here, Brienne has never seen less than five men waiting for death at any one time.

But her role, the High Septon told her clearly, is not to question the guilt or the physical fate of these men.  Her role is simply to provide them succor and, where possible, to lead them to the Faith of the Seven—or to any god, really—before their death.

She hesitates in front of the cell door.  She wants to pray more deeply, but for some reason she can’t think of anything other than the fact she was given this job to punish rather than reward her.  She was not even sent here as a test of her faith and devotion.  The High Septon is no more a friend to her than the Hanging Judge.

She doesn’t know how much longer she can continue to do this, but to ask to be relieved of this duty will be taken as a sign of weakness.  She shudders to think where the High Septon would send her next if she were to be so craven as to run from this prison.

She draws in a deep breath.

It matters not.  She made a vow to serve here, and so she shall.  This is her life until the High Septon or mayhaps Judge Tarly dismisses her.  At least the men awaiting the gallows need her, whether they realize it or not.

She nods again at the guard.  He opens the cell door and she steps over the threshold.

*/*/*/*/*

The prisoner is sitting on the floor, his hands shackled to the bed he’s leaning against.  His head is lowered and he doesn’t lift it as the door clangs shut behind Brienne.

She stands and considers the unmoving man in silence, waiting for him to acknowledge her.

The prisoner finally, slowly, raises his shaggy head, his hair and beard long, unkempt and filthy, yet Brienne’s breath still catches in her throat when his eyes meet hers.

_By the gods_ , she thinks in shock, _he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen_.

His eyes are cold, his face stoic as he considers her in the half-light of the cell, and as she looks into his eyes, her breath catches once again.  She has seen countless condemned men over her three years at this prison.  Men have begged her for their lives.  Men have cursed her, spat on her, and wept on her shoulder.  She has seen men resigned to their fate, struggling against it, terrified of it.  But this man... _this_ man...

They continue staring at each other in silence.

_This_ man is not afraid, she realizes.  _This_ man has not yet given up.

“Have you come to say pretty prayers for my soul, septon?” he finally drawls and Brienne startles a little at his slow, deep, arrogant voice.  An educated voice, a distant part of her notes, with a snide tone.

“If you wish,” she says, more calmly than she feels.

A slow grin spreads across his face.  “By the gods, you’re a woman!”  He chuckles—actually chuckles— and says, “I see now those are septas robes.  My pardons.  I assumed a men’s prison would have a septon.”

“‘Tis not the first time such a mistake has been made,” Brienne manages to say and tries to shake off her odd reaction to the man in front of her.  “You are to be hanged three days from now.  I am here to provide what comfort I can to you, Mr. Lannister, and to fulfill whatever last requests it is within my power to grant you.”

His grin widens.  “I take that to mean you won’t leave the doors to my cell and this prison unlocked for me?”

She gives a slight tilt of her head.  “I’m afraid not,” she says drily.  “You have been found guilty by a court of law—”

“By the Hanging Judge, you mean,” he says, his voice cold and angry.  “Were you in the courtroom when my so-called trial was held?”

“No,” she says.  “I am not allowed in the courtroom.  That is the duty of the civil authority, not the spiritual.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that before.”  He cocks his head and shifts, his shackles clanking.  “You have come here to pray for my blackened soul?”

“I have come to provide what succor I can,” she says calmly.  This she understands.  Many men are angry— _enraged_ —when she first appears.  What comfort can a septa provide when the Stranger is so close they can feel its breath upon their necks?

“But only if you follow the Faith of the Seven,” he says with contempt.

“If you believe in different gods, I can help you with those prayers as well, Mr. Lannister,” Brienne says.

“Under the circumstances, call me Jaime.”  He barks a harsh laugh.  “We don’t have much time, after all, to be concerned with the formalities.”

She hesitates, her lips pressed tightly together, then says, “If you tell me which religion you follow, I will pray with you, Mr. Lannister.”

His smile is cruel.  “I’m not surprised you are a septa here,” he says. “You are as dreary as this prison.”

Brienne flushes a little, surprised at the fact the words strike home.  “Do you wish to pray?” she asks.  “Or mayhaps talk?  Civilly.”

Jaime barks a sharp laugh.  “Do you think I shall confess my many sins to you, septa?”

Brienne remains stoic.  “You will be hanged by the neck until you are dead, Mr. Lannister.  You have three days before that happens.  How you make peace with your conscience and whichever god you follow is entirely up to you.  I only wish to help you find what peace you may before your date with the gallows.”

“You’re here to help me accept my fate.”  His eyes are cold as he rakes them over her.  “I doubt you will be successful.”

Brienne’s expression doesn’t change.  “I seldom am,” she says gently, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t try.”

He thoughtfully considers her and this time when he finally smiles, it’s more kind.  “I suppose not, septa.”  He sighs.  “I have no wish to pray,” he says, “but I am not adverse to conversation.  Stay.  Sit with me for a while.”

“As you wish,” Brienne says and settles on the single chair that’s in the cell.  “What would you like to talk about?”

He shrugs.  “I don’t really care, so long as I am not immediately returned to the silence of this cell.”  He cocks his head.  “Tell me your name and how you came to be a septa in a prison like this.”

“That is not a very interesting story,” she says.

He shrugs.  “It doesn’t have to be interesting,” he says.  “It just needs to break the silence.”

She considers him carefully then says, “I would prefer to say a prayer for you.”

He smirks and shrugs, his eyes mocking.  “As you wish.”

*/*/*/*/*

_The stench of the prison clings to her nostrils as Brienne blinks, once more seeing the control room instead of the dank cell.  She struggles to focus on the computer screens and sees the experiment has ended.  She cautiously turns, feeling weak and faint, and stares down at Jaime, who’s sitting on the floor staring up at her._

_They’re suspended, not daring to move, until Jaime finally breathes, “Is the experiment over?”_

_“Yes,” she breathes back._

_He groans and closes his eyes.  “I think I’ve run mad,” he mutters._

_“I may have run mad with you,” Brienne says and he opens his eyes to stare at her in silence._

*/*/*/*/*


	3. Chapter 3

*/*/*/*/*

They are, first and foremost, scientists.

“Don’t tell me anything,” Jaime orders then drags himself to his feet.  Brienne immediately understands what he means as they scramble for paper and pens.  “Write everything down,” he says, shoving a pen into her hand while she shoves a pad of paper into his.  “I’ll do the same, and then we’ll compare.”

Brienne’s head is spinning and it’s difficult to concentrate but Jaime’s right:  they have to keep this as clean as possible.  Her fingers clench round the pen and it feels like the only solid thing in a world where she’s bombarded with memories and thoughts and emotions that are hers-not-hers.

The tip of her pen hovers over the paper as Jaime all but collapses in the chair next to her.  He glances over to her as he slips on his horn-rimmed reading glasses, and he looks as terrified and confused as she does.  In an odd way, it gives her courage.  They share a tentative smile and with a nod she hopes looks more confident than she feels, she lowers her gaze to the paper in front of her and begins to write.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne finishes writing and glances almost fearfully at Jaime, clutching her pen in a still-trembling hand.

“Ready?” he asks as he finishes scrawling his last word.

She nods and they exchange notepads.

She skims through Jaime’s notes and her dizziness grows.  She feels like she has different, equally turbulent rivers of memories in her head, and if she’s not careful, she’s going to lose her grip on those memories she knows are _hers_.  But as she reads, the fear and confusion curling in her stomach collides with burgeoning curiosity, and twists into a fierce desire to _know_ , to _understand_.  She’s both terrified and exhilarated by what she’s reading.

Everything parallels what she remembers, but the events are told from his perspective, not her own.

Brienne lifts her head and stares at him. He finishes shortly after and slowly raises his eyes to meet her own.  Even in her emotional turmoil, she’s struck with the fact that he looks far too handsome in his horn-rimmed glasses to be real.

He pulls those glasses off and rubs the bridge of his nose.  “By the gods,” he mutters.

“Have we really travelled across universes?” she whispers and she doesn’t know if she wants him to tell her she’s mad or if she wants him to tell her they’ve stumbled across the greatest discovery in the history of humanity.

He shakes his head.  “It looks like we’ve connected with other universes somehow, but _physically_ travelled?  Unlikely. We won’t know for sure until we recreate the experiment and experience similar results.”

For a moment, Brienne quails at the thought and then her scientific side comes to the fore.  She nods.  “If we _did_ somehow experience other universes,” she says, “do you think the effect was felt outside the Wall?  The EM field was at full power and the alarm system didn’t warn us it was failing, so it’s likely the effect was contained inside this facility, but what we experienced was...unprecedented.”

Jaime shakes his head, his face grim.  “We’ll need to find out before we run the experiment again.  At least it’s after midnight.  With luck, if anything _was_ felt outside the Wall, it was only as really vivid dreams for most people.”

She scowls, thinking hard.  “How are we going to find out without raising suspicions about what happened tonight?”

“Very carefully.”

She rolls her eyes.  “I’m serious, Jaime!  We can’t run the experiment again without knowing if the EM field contained the effects, and we can’t just go out into the town of Castle Black and ask everyone about their dreams!  And we don’t have much time.  We only have the accelerator for another six days, and it takes a full twelve hours to get the accelerator and the EM field to maximum power.”

He gives her a grim smile.  “Believe me, I know.”  He glances at the clock.  “Fuck,” he says, “it’s only been forty minutes since we began the experiment?”

Brienne glances at the time and nods.  “And we spent most of that time writing our notes.”

“Let’s get the computer readings downloaded and get the fuck out of here.”  He pauses, frowning.  “Let’s go for a drive, see if we can find an all-night coffee shop or something.”

She blinks.  “Why?”

“So we can see if we’re still in the same universe we remember.”

Her jaw drops.  “There’s no way we could have affected our universe that drastically!”

“There’s also no way we should have other memories in our heads!”  Jaime grinds his teeth, the muscles in his jaw jumping.  “Right now, we don’t know what may have happened outside the Wall.”  He relaxes with a visible effort.  “Let’s just...be prepared.  For anything.”

*/*/*/*/*

They drive back to the town of Castle Black, squatting about two miles away from the Wall. Its lights twinkle in the distance and Jaime takes comfort in the familiarity of the sight.  He glances at the time and drives them to the Onion Knight bar.

“I thought you said a coffee shop,” Brienne grumbles half-heartedly beside him.

“I think we both need a drink,” he says, “something stronger than coffee. Plus we want people to talk to us.  If something weird happened to a bunch of drunk people tonight, trust me:  we’ll be hard pressed to get them to shut up.”

He’s rewarded with a reluctant chuckle and a nod.

He follows her into the bar, firmly pushing down the unfamiliar-yet-completely-familiar memories cluttering his mind.  He first needs to know if anyone else has been affected by their experiment before he can focus on what’s happened to him and Brienne, and only then gingerly begin to explore the memories and emotions that are crowding his brain.

The bar is full, jumping with loud music and people bobbing round the dance floor.  Jaime follows Brienne as she winds her way to the bar.  She takes a seat and he slides onto the bar stool beside her.  He orders their usual drinks then smiles charmingly at the bartender, a pretty young woman named Pia he’s seen working here before.

“Pretty busy place for this time of night,” he says, raising his voice to be heard above the din.

Pia raises an eyebrow.  “Pretty much the usual crowd,” she says as she puts their drinks in front of them.

“I’m surprised,” he says with a chuckle.  “I didn’t think Castle Black had much going on at night.”

Pia gives him a mock-offended look.  “There’s lots going on!”

“Not like in King’s Landing, though, I’ll bet!  I’m pretty sure you’ve never seen some of the shit that happens in the big city!”

Pia rolls her eyes.  “People are people,” she says.  “Add alcohol and they’re even more so.”

“Oh, come on, this is the frozen North,” Jaime teases, taking a sip of his drink, ignoring Brienne’s puzzled scowl beside him.  “Have you ever had anything truly weird and interesting happen in this town?”

Brienne chokes a little and hastily takes a gulp of her drink.  He’d like to smack her in the arm to keep her quiet but he’s too busy charming the bartender to take the time.  Brienne’s arm is also saved because he doesn’t want to alert Pia to the fact that he’s fishing for information rather than simply flirting.

The pretty young bartender’s eyes widen and she mock-gasps.  “I’ll have you know that Dolorous Edd just finished doing the Meereenese waltz on top of the bar.”

Jaime and Brienne turn to stare down the long bar where a dour looking man is hunched, staring into his drink as if it holds the secrets of the universe.  _Universes_ , Jaime thinks, and struggles against a bubble of hysterical laughter rising in his throat.

“Does he do that often?” Brienne asks.  “The dancing, I mean.”

“Oh, every night,” Pia says with a smug nod.

“Then it’s not really unusual, is it?” Brienne says and gives Pia a shy smile.

Pia blinks then grins.  “Not when you put it that way, I guess,” she says and laughs.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime strikes up conversations with a couple of the bar patrons, including the waltzing Dolorous Edd, and learn it’s been a perfectly ordinary night in the town of Castle Black.  He and Brienne walk out of the bar twenty minutes later feeling somewhat more relaxed.

They get into the car and heave sighs of relief.

“Tomorrow, we call home,” Jaime says.  “See if anyone further away experienced something strange.”

Brienne nods.  “And comb through the data.  Maybe there’s another explanation for what happened.”

Jaime’s grin is blinding, even in the dim light of the car.  “I doubt it,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot to head for their hotel.  “Prepare yourself for that Samwell Prize, Junior!”

“Not if we can’t duplicate and measure the results,” Brienne cautions.

“Well, now I’m positive we’re still the same!” Jaime says and laughs.

*/*/*/*/*

It’s a relief when Jaime closes his hotel suite door behind him.  He leans against it and lets his shoulders slump as he hangs his head.  He hopes he managed to hide just how shaken he is from Brienne; he doesn’t want to worry her and she must be struggling just as much as he is with the after-effects of what happened in the Wall.

Too many memories that are not his, too many emotions, and he’s had no chance, really, to sort through them.  On one level, he’s the same as always.  He knows who he is, what’s happened to him in his life, the members of his family.  The latter thought reminds him of Prince Jaime, whose lust for and devotion to his sister is very real.  But he—Jaime Prime, he thinks with a slightly dizzying sense of disbelief— _he_ thanks every god he knows that he doesn’t have a sister like that.

He straightens and abruptly shies away from the memories now filling his head.  It’s a disorienting combination of known and alien— _so alien_ —memories.  They’re jumbled yet clear and he’s too wired and exhausted to try to untangle everything that’s racing through his head right now.

He strips off his clothes and crawls beneath the covers, and wonders what his dreams are going to show him.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne shies away from the thoughts and memories and emotions tumbling round her mind.  There’s simply too much to process and her body is exhausted even if her mind is racing like a hamster on a wheel.

Make that _four_ hamsters, all trying to win an endless race, and a burble of pained laughter escapes her.

She studiously tries to stop thinking as she washes her face, changes into her boxers and t-shirt, precisely folds the clothes she’d been wearing, and puts them away.  She slips beneath the blankets and closes her eyes.

She doesn’t want to explore those alien thoughts—not yet, anyway.  Because they’re not just thoughts, they’re emotions, too, and there are images and events that make her shudder and cringe and shy away.

Brienne does not yet understand what’s happened to them.  Mayhaps these other memories will be gone come morning.

She hopes so.

She has no equations for what’s happened, no formulas to use as a guide, and—gods willing—she won’t need them or she can discover them if needed.

Physics, she tells herself almost desperately, _physics_ she understands.

*/*/*/*/*

They dream jumbled dreams of a prince in a gold car, of a princess wearing septa’s robes, of a prisoner in chains watching a farm woman weed her garden.

They wake, still-tired and still with the memories of the Others:  the other Jaimes, the other Briennes.  But there’s a clarity now that had been missing in the immediate aftermath of the experiment.  Somehow, the Others are more clearly separated in their minds, and their own memories are once more clear and sharply distinct.

They meet at the usual time for their morning workout at the hotel’s gym.

“Better?” Jaime asks as they wind their way to the treadmills.

Brienne nods. “You?”

“Much,” he says, and there’s palpable relief in the word.  “Ready to do it all again?”

“No.  But I’ll do it anyway.”

“That’s my Junior,” he says with a grin, and starts his treadmill.  “Ready to race?”

She rolls her eyes but nods again and starts her own machine.

*/*/*/*/*

They talk to family and friends later that morning.

“All good?” Jaime asks as he lets Brienne into his hotel suite.

She nods.  “You?”

“As good as it can be when you have a brother like Tyrion,” he says drily and she chuckles.  “You’ve brought the data?’

She nods again and puts her laptop on the table.

They pore over the results of the experiment, heads bent close together as they peer at the screen of Brienne’s laptop.  They bicker and debate the meaning of the results, pointing out anything that proves or disproves the basic premise of their experiment, and excitedly scrawling out equations and formulas on notepads that spark even more heated arguments and more scrawled equations and formulas.

The hours pass happily, and when they take a break and Jaime strolls to the suite’s bar for something to drink, he thinks dueling minds is his third favorite thing after sex and working out.

“Can we repeat the experiment exactly as we did it before?” he asks as he pulls a couple of soft drinks from the fridge.  “And I do mean _exactly_ , otherwise what we experienced last night may never happen again.”

Brienne frowns.  “We should be able to,” she says cautiously.  She glances at her watch.  “Now?  With the twelve hours needed to build up to full power for both the generators and the EM field, if we start now...”

Jaime shakes his head.  “We’ll go out tomorrow.  While nothing seemed to have happened outside the Wall, I’d still prefer to run the experiment when the least number of people are likely to be near the facility.  We’ll start at noon again and run the experiment round midnight.”

Brienne nods.  “All right.  But bring something to keep you entertained this time, okay?”

Jaime grins. “I thought that was you, Junior.”  He laughs and dodges the wadded up paper she throws at him.

*/*/*/*/*

The next night, just after midnight, Jaime sits down on a chair beside Brienne, the computer screens in front of him.

“I don’t want to end up on the floor this time,” he says with a self-deprecating grin.  “That won’t play well on the talk shows.”

Brienne rolls her eyes then chews her bottom lip.  “What’s it like for you?  The memories, I mean.”

Jaime pauses, frowning, then says, “They’re not as... _loud_ as they were before.  They’re just... _there_.  You?”

“Same,” she says.  “I just...how many more memories do you think we can absorb without going mad?”

“Ah,” Jaime says, “that’s a question for Tyrion, if we can convince him to be a serious biologist for once.  Or maybe Jon Snow—he’s the psychologist of the bunch.”

“Thank the gods we at least have one we can call,” Brienne mutters.  She lightly puts her fingers on the keyboard. “Ready to find out?”

Jaime leans forward, eyes steady on hers.  “Ready.”

She doesn’t take her eyes from his as she presses enter.

*/*/*/*/*


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   Jaime/Cersei.  And I’m truly sorry about it.

*/*/*/*/*

“Are you simply going to let her treat you like that?”

Jaime struggles not to roll his eyes.  “Must we argue?” he sighs instead, putting his hands on his sweet sister’s shapely shoulders.  “We only have tonight and then you’ll be wed to another and on your way North.”

Cersei wrenches away from his grasp and flounces towards the bed.  “And whose fault is that?”

“Our father’s,” Jaime says flatly, “just as it is his fault I’m married to that great creature from the Stormlands.”

Cersei turns and thoughtfully considers him, her beautiful green eyes coldly calculating.  “There is no need for you to be married to her for long,” she purrs and he narrows his own eyes.

“I need a legitimate heir,” he says, “and the realm as a whole needs peace.”

“And so we are sold off like cattle to the highest bidders!” Cersei says bitterly.

“At least you will be Queen once you marry King Eddard.  It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

Cersei flies to him and flings herself into his arms.  “Do you think all I care for is the title?”

_Yes_ , he thinks cynically, but knows better than to speak the word aloud.  Not that it matters, truly.  If King Selwyn had had a son instead of a daughter, Cersei would have been wed to him and the two kingdoms would have been united just the same.  It simply sweetens the peace treaty for their father that the Southron Kings will be named Lannister and not Tarth. 

“Come with me, Jaime,” Cersei pleads, startling him.  “Renounce your farce of a marriage, reject the Southron Throne!  Declare yourself willing to join Eddard Stark’s Kingsguard and accompany us to Winterfell!  Let Tarth have the Southron Throne if it means so much to her family.”

Jaime bites back a harsh laugh.  Cersei does not appreciate being mocked and if the wedding tomorrow is to be accomplished without incident, ‘tis best if he keeps her sweet.

“You know I can’t do that, Cersei,” he says, wrapping his arms round her lithe body and pulling her close against him.

She tries to pull away but he only tightens his hold.

“You love the throne more than you love me,” she spits as she struggles against him.  “You just want to be King!”

“I want _peace_ ,” he snarls.  “I want an end to battles and blood and the suffering of the smallfolk.  If it wouldn’t cause more problems than it would solve, I would have married you in front of the Seven years ago and damn the world, but we wouldn’t have survived five minutes after the ceremony, and you know it.  Renounce the throne?  Run away with you to Winterfell?  Do you think Good King Eddard Stark will tolerate being a cuckold?  Let alone an incestuous affair?”  He gives Cersei a small shake and almost wants to stay, almost wants to throw his sister on the bed and fuck her until she screams his name.

The gods know, his body is willing and straining towards hers…and mayhaps it would keep Cersei calm enough for the ceremony tomorrow to be completed.

But he swore vows in the Great Sept today and while he has no love for the giant ugly creature forced upon him, he finds he cannot quite bring himself to break those promises so easily.  Their marriage is not what he wants, and he has no doubt they will both take lovers as the years march on, but on their wedding night?

No.

Even if the only reason he’s reluctant to do so is because Tarth is so sure he will.  Her remarkably pretty eyes had been filled with contempt as she’d swept out of his bedchamber.

“Jaime?” Cersei’s sharp voice cuts through his distraction.  “Are you listening to me?”

He smiles a pained smile.  “I was imagining all the things I’d love to do to you tonight,” he says.

Cersei preens and she rewards him with a deep kiss before she slips away from his embrace.

“You mustn’t stay much longer,” she teases.  “My ladies will soon return and we can’t be found fucking.”

Jaime’s smile is bitter.  “No?  Aren’t you the one who thinks my renouncing my birthright and following you to Winterfell would not rouse anyone’s suspicions?”

Cersei’s eyes sharpen into green shards of glass.  “What do you want from me, Jaime?  Do you want me to refuse this marriage and stay here with you?”

Jaime’s blood runs cold.  “And deny you the title of Queen?  I love you too much to deny you anything you want, Cersei.”

“Yes, I’ll be Queen—but it’s the North, Jaime!  So far away from you!  And warmth!”

Jaime’s heart twists a little with sympathy.  He goes to Cersei and tugs her gently into his arms and kisses her.  He understands his Father’s reasoning for this second marriage; he even agrees with it.  But Cersei is still his sister, his lover, and he still loves her, still wants her, even after all she has done, even after all that has happened.

He kisses her again and bears her down to the bed.

Tomorrow she’ll be out of his reach, he thinks, and he’s relieved, even as his heart shatters along with his resolve to honor his newly made marriage vows.

*/*/*/*/*

_The control room comes back into focus.  Jaime’s not nearly as disoriented as he was the first time this happened and he turns to Brienne, only to run into her accusing gaze._

_“You spent the night with her?” Brienne asks and for the first time in this universe, he blushes._

_He shrugs and she opens her mouth--_

*/*/*/*/*

Alysanne and Arianne are as fascinated with Jaime as Brienne had always been.  Oh, she had grown up with him so she learned to ignore his handsome face—most of the time.  Every now and then, though, he could still take her breath away.  Of course, when they still had the television, it happened whenever she stumbled across him on some talk show or another, promoting his latest album.

She studiously avoids his music, although that’s virtually impossible since his big cross-over hit is literally on every radio station at least four times an hour.  She wants to buy his album—he’s her best friend, after all—but its money better spent on food or squirrelled away to buy the girls new clothes for the upcoming school year.

Brienne’s glad Jaime’s made it in the world of Southron music.  He’s a big star.  At least for now, she tells herself darkly, and then feels guilty that she’s always half-hoped he’d fail and return home to settle for her homely self.

Not that he had ever noticed her homely self—at least not like that.  And she hadn’t even realized what she felt for him until he left.  No, at the time, she’d been mooning after Renly Baratheon, certain he was the only one for her.  Then Jaime had left without even saying good-bye, and her heart had shattered.  Then he hadn’t once tried to contact her over the last five years and his absence became an ache she could never soothe.

Not that she’s had much time to dwell on it.  After her mother had died having Arianne, her father had descended into alcoholism, leaving Brienne to take care of both him and the girls.  Jaime knew all that, of course; Arianne had been seven when he left, after all.  What he didn’t know was that not even six months after Jaime took off for Music Row in King’s Landing, Selwyn Tarth went on a bender and rolled the tractor down the one hill on their sorry farm.

He was already dead by the time Brienne found him.

All of her energy since then has been focused on keeping her sisters with her while keeping a roof over their heads and food on their table.

She tells Jaime about it in a few words while they’re sitting on the front porch swing, glasses filled with iced tea weeping on the side tables beside them.  The sun is setting but it’s still brutally hot.  She’s sent the girls out to the garden to pick some vegetables for supper.

“It’s a little early for most everything,” she says to Jaime.

“I know,” he says.  “Why didn’t you tell me about your father?”

“Why didn’t you tell me where you were?”

He frowns.  “I told Cersei to give you my address!”

Brienne snorts and rolls her eyes.  “Well, you should have known better than that,” she says, her voice as dry as the land that surrounds them.  There is no love lost between Brienne and Jaime’s sister.

Jaime sighs.  “Yeah, I suppose I should have.”

They gently rock in silence then Brienne says, “Why are you here?”

“Cersei’s getting married,” Jaime says softly.

“I know,” Brienne says kindly.  “Are you okay with that?”

Jaime’s laugh is harsh.  “No, but there’s also nothing I can do about it.”

“I always thought Cersei would join you in King’s Landing, especially—” she stops abruptly.

“After I made it big?” Jaime says drily.  “She did, for a while.  I even got her a few gigs, but it turns out that being a successful recording artist actually takes work.  Not work like this—” he gestures at the dying crops and the struggling garden “—but still more work than Cersei was willing to put in.”  He sighs and deflates.  “I always thought she’d leave this place before I did.”

Brienne could have told him differently; had, too, before he’d left town and left her, Brienne, behind with it.  Cersei likes being a big fish in a small pond; likes being queen bee.  She wouldn’t have that in a place like King’s Landing.

Jaime shakes his head.  “Anyway, Cersei needs to make her own way, and I need to make mine.  A singer is only as good as his last hit, and I have to get a new album out soon or lose my momentum.”

“Oh,” Brienne says, startled.  “I still hear your song everywhere.”

Jaime shrugs.  “For now.  But I have no intention of being a one-hit wonder.  I’m working with my producers now, listening to demos, trying to decide what’s going to be the next big hit for me.”  He takes a sip of his iced tea.  “We’ll see.”

“Do you like it?” Brienne asks carefully.

“I love it,” he says promptly.  “I’m good at it, which shocked the hell out of my dad, of course.  He cut me off, did you know?”

Brienne shakes her head.  Tywin Lannister is not a man who deigns to speak to someone like her.

“I made it on my own anyway,” Jaime says smugly then shrugs.  “At least for now.”

The porch swing gently sways, the silence broken only by the creak of its chains and the girls’ childish voices as they call to each other in the garden.

“You look good, Brienne,” Jaime says softly.

She snorts.

“I’ve missed you,” he insists.  “It’s good to see you again.”

She picks up her glass with a trembling hand and takes a sip, hoping to hide her reaction to his words.  She puts the glass back down.  “I’ve missed you, too,” she says, her voice husky.  She clears her throat.  “It’s good to see you,” she says briskly, “and I’m glad you’re back, even if it’s only for a few days.”

*/*/*/*/*

_The taste of the iced tea is still deliciously sweet on his tongue as the control room comes back into focus.  Jaime wonders if his Brienne—Brienne Prime—is just as good at making it in this universe and thinks he needs to remember to ask—_

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne brushes the tips of her fingers across her scarred cheek as she stands outside Jaime Lannister’s cell door.  Odd.  The maiming had occurred not even six months into her tenure here; a man condemned for horrific crimes had attacked her as she was escorting him to the gallows.  He’d wanted one last victim; one last taste of human flesh.

She shudders a little at the memory, but she had not thought of it for months, now.  Had not mourned the loss of her smooth cheek, nor the loss of what few homely looks she had been blessed with.  Yet since her largely unsuccessful meeting the previous day with the man languishing in this cell, she’s been seeing herself through his eyes.  And cringing.

Foolish.

She’s a septa, sworn to serve, sworn to celibacy.  It matters not what a condemned criminal thinks of her.

She brushes her fingers across the scars again and reminds herself that the man behind this cell door may look beautiful, but beneath, he is just as much a monster—and just as much a child of the Seven—as any other convicted man she’s counselled in the last three years. What he thinks—or, more like, _doesn’t_ think—of her has less than naught to do with what she is honor-bound to provide to him:  succor, and one last chance at peace and salvation.

*/*/*/*/*

The septa sits, stiff and precise, on the only chair in the cell.  Jaime carefully watches her as he tries to pry words out of her.  For someone who is supposed to be trying to save his soul, she is remarkably reluctant to speak once she’s finished saying her prayers.

The silence between them deepens.

“Tell me what you do here, septa,” Jaime finally says.

“I minister to the men condemned to death,” she says.

“A truly noble calling,” he says, sardonic.  “Did you volunteer for it?”

The septa hesitates then says, slowly, “The High Septon assigned me here.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “Did he now?  For what reason?”

“It is not for me to question the High Septon’s decisions.”

“Of course not.  Tell me:  does he know all that you do here?  Do you write reports to him that he reads while he is safely hidden away in the Great Sept in King’s Landing?  Can he truly understand what you tell him?  Has he ever been in a place like this, septa?  Has he ever looked in a condemned man’s eyes and offered to pray for their souls?”

The septa blinks those ridiculously large and beautiful eyes, but they remain serene.  “Does it truly matter if he has or not?” she asks.  “The gallows is but one way to meet the Stranger; I am sure the High Septon has provided comfort to many who were lost and afraid.”

Jaime’s smile is knife-sharp.  “Is that what you think of me?  That I’m lost and afraid?”

“You are here, are you not?  You have this afternoon, and two full days, and then I will walk by your side as you meet your fate.”

“And will the prayers you’ll intone to save my soul have any true meaning?  You will not even tell me your name.”

The septa blinks again, and now she looks uncertain, even confused.

Jaime cocks his head.  “How long have you been here?”

“Three years,” she says.

“Has no other condemned man ever asked your name?”

The septa hesitates, blinking owlishly in the dim light of this festering cell.  “No,” she finally says softly, “but my name is not important.”

“I disagree.  As my time counts down and the Stranger draws near, I find there is nothing more important to me than the name of the only person I am allowed to see.”  He jerks his chin towards the door.  “The guard out there opens the slot in my door and shoves through a food tray three times a day, yet never speaks a word.”  His grin is brief and humorless.  “At least the Hanging Judge believes in still feeding the men he condemns.  The pail for my shit will soon be overflowing, but I am at least grateful I have enough length on my chains to allow me to pace this cell as far as needed.”  He considers her, suddenly thoughtful.

“Do not think to overpower me, Mr. Lannister,” the septa says, still calm but with a warning look on her scarred face.  “I am as strong as I look, and even if I weren’t, none in this place would save me.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “You are the prison’s septa.”

“And worth less to the Hanging Judge than the justice that must be meted out.”

“You’ve been taken hostage before?”

“Several times.”

“And you’re still here.”

For the first time in their acquaintance, a slight smile curves the septa’s too-large mouth.  “I am still here.”

Jaime’s smile is more pronounced and genuine.  “And yet none have ever bothered to ask your name.”  He shakes his head and sobers, his eyes intent.  “I will not harm you, septa; you have my word—such as it is.  But I would know the name of the person intent on saving my soul in such a short time.”

She hesitates, then reluctantly says, “Brienne.  Brienne of Tarth.”  Her voice is as solemn as her face, her beautiful eyes wide and blue and honest.

Jaime slowly smiles.  “Septa Brienne.”  He bows his head, almost like a knight bowing to a maiden.  “Septa Brienne.”  He nods.  “Thank you.”

She flushes and quickly clears her throat.  “Do you wish to pray?” she asks.

Jaime heaves a small sigh.  “Since you have been so kind as to give me your name, yes.  Please pray for me.  Septa Brienne.”

*/*/*/*/*

_A truly good person_ , Jaime thinks as Septa Brienne closes the door of his cell behind her some time later.  _She actually believes the auroch-shit she’s shovelling every time she’s here._

That’s good, he thinks as he leans his head back and shifts, trying to get some relief from the shackles round his wrists and feet.  He can work with a truly good person.

He dozes, his mind working, and when he wakes, he has a plan.

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime blinks and sees he’s back in the Wall with the computers in front of him and his Brienne beside him._

_The experiment is once again over, and he’s pleased he’s not nearly as dizzy and disoriented as the other night—although he has to fight the urge to scratch every inch of himself he can reach, still feeling the filth of that prison cell._

_“Gods, that place stinks,” Brienne says, wrinkling her nose, rubbing at her unscarred cheek._

_Now he does start to scratch.  “I need a shower,” he groans._

_“There’s one two levels up,” Brienne says, already reaching for her pen and a pad of paper._

_“Thank gods,” he says, and bolts from the room._

*/*/*/*/*


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Canon-compliant coarse language. Non-graphic descriptions of violence, attempted rape and blood. Um…sexual situations…sorta?? But there’s no smut to suffer through, so you can be grateful for that! LOL

 */*/*/*/*

It’s the most bizarre feeling, Jaime thinks as he, freshly showered, scribbles his notes upon his return to the control room.

He knows where he is, knows what his life is at this moment.  He has no doubt about where he lives and who is waiting for him when he goes home.  But now it feels like there are echoes beneath his life; other pasts, other worlds, other histories, weaving through his mind.  If he concentrates, he can focus in on one life at a time.  It’s almost as if he can cancel out the noise of the other lives and follow the thread of one life to its beginnings and then follow it the opposite way, all the way up to the last moment he experienced while the experiment was happening.

He glances at Brienne beside him, diligently writing with an intense scowl on her homely face.

They had connected to the same universes again, he thinks, and their paths had definitely converged in all of them.

He watches her thoughtfully, remembering her question from a few days ago.

Soul mates.

*/*/*/*/*

They discuss the results of the latest experiment into the early hours of the morning and continue their debate the next afternoon as they eat a late lunch at the local greasy spoon a few doors from their hotel.  They happily argue over equations and formulas then speculate whether they can find the exact moments they’re connecting to the other universes in the data.

Then they lapse into companionable silence while they eat until Brienne blurts out, “Do you believe in soul mates now?”

Jaime snorts then takes a gulp of beer before once again attacking his steak.

“So...no, then?” Brienne says drily.

Jaime swallows his bite of food.  “No,” he says bluntly.

“So how do you explain the fact our counterparts are together in every universe?”

“Are you saying you think we’re soul mates, Junior?” Jaime purrs with a mocking smirk and Brienne flushes a bright, shining red.

“A soul mate isn’t necessarily romantic, Jaime!”

Jaime’s smirk widens, and it’s now a little cruel as well as mocking. “I never said it was.”

The heat in her face deepens and for a blissful moment, Brienne ponders stabbing the back of his hand with her fork just to see that smirk wiped away.  She settles for stabbing the steak on her plate instead.

Jaime’s expression softens. 

“I’m sorry, Junior,” he says, “I shouldn’t tease you like that.  No, I still don’t believe in soul mates.  Think of it like this:  I, Jaime Prime, do not have a sister named Cersei, but in two of the three universes we’ve seen, I do have one.  She’s even my twin each time.  But that means there are two universes where she _doesn_ _’_ _t_ exist in my life.  Is she a soul mate?”

“Prince Jaime thinks so,” Brienne says drily and grimaces with distaste.

Jaime grimaces as well.  “A bit extreme in his devotion, yes, but that doesn’t nullify my point.  In fifty percent of the universes we’ve seen, there is no Cersei.  How about your family?”

Brienne frowns and gingerly probes the memories of each Brienne.

“Well,” she says slowly, “if I just think of Galladon, I have him here, of course, and Septa Brienne also has him.  Princess Brienne outlived him, and Farmer Brienne never had him.  So...three out of four.”

Jaime nods.  “Proves my point.  I have Tyrion here, and nowhere else.”

Brienne thoughtfully chews another bite of food.  “Farmer and Septa Brienne are the only two who have Alysanne and Arianne.”  She frowns, then says, “I _am_ single in every universe, though.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow and she flushes.

“Prince Jaime doesn’t count,” she mutters, her eyes on her plate as she cuts herself another piece of steak.

Jaime chuckles then says, “Well, I have Taena, of course, and Prince Jaime has Cersei.”  He frowns, thinking, then shakes his head.  “No one long-term in the other two universes.”

They eat for a few moments in silence, then Brienne says, “So why _do_ we seem to be connecting only to universes where we both exist and our paths have converged?”

Jaime shrugs.  “Certainly not because it’s fate!  Mayhaps we can only connect with those counterparts who are most like us in personality or, more likely, genetically.  Or mayhaps it’s as simple as the fact that we’re physically together during the experiment and that determines which universes we connect with.”

“Well, that latter hypothesis can be tested easily enough,” Brienne says.  “We have the Wall for another three days.  We can run a series of shorter experiments with just you in the facility, then run them a second time with just me.”

“Can we run multiple experiments in one night?” Jaime asks.

Brienne frowns, mentally calculating.  “It’s possible,” she says slowly.  “The EM barrier will be at full power and the run time itself will be shorter.  We’ll have to confirm the calculations, but if we keep the run time to about thirty minutes, then we should only need an hour to be back at full power.”

Jaime nods.  “Then that’s what we’ll do for the next two nights.  We’ll just have to make sure we’re far enough away from the Wall so we’re positive our presence isn’t influencing the results.”

“There may not be any results,” Brienne warns.  “The run time may be too short to even connect to another universe.”

“Well, Junior,” Jaime says, lifting his beer in salute, “we won’t know until we try.”

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime hums as he works, once again reviewing the data they_ ' _ve already gathered as he waits for the Wall to reach full power.  Brienne drove back to Castle Black over an hour ago and won’t return until he lets her know his portion of the experiment has ended._

_He hopes these solo experiments will throw everything they’ve experienced the last few days out the window.  Well, not out the window, exactly; mayhaps it’s more accurate to say he hopes it will put everything into perspective.  He hates to admit it, but even he is starting to wonder if there really is some kind of destiny at work._

_He shakes his head._

_It_ 's _coincidence, he assures himself fiercely.  Besides the fact the sample size is far too small to use to extrapolate, he_ ' _s sure they connect to those particular universes because they_ ' _ve been physically together in the facility during the previous experiments.  He_ ' _s sure it_ 's _because the experiment somehow forces them to connect together and not separately and when they get back to King_ 's _Landing, he_ ' _s going to pull that program apart to see where the glitch may be.  But of one thing he_ ' _s sure:  it is not_ _—_ _definitely not_ _—_ _because he and Brienne are_ _‘_ _soul mates_ _’_ _._

_A soft ping tells him the Wall has reached full power.  He keys in the commands to begin recording the results of the experiment and gives the computer screen a smirk._

_“_ _Do your worst,"_   _he whispers and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

“Do you believe in soul mates?”

Jaime blinks bleary eyes, trying to bring the speaker into focus.  Female.  Young.  Is it just him, or are the groupies getting younger every day?  A moment of terrified sobriety shocks him as he peers intently at the woman, suddenly praying with every fibre of his being that she’s of legal age.  With his reputation, no one would ever believe he had been too drunk to notice.

Well.

Then again.

Maybe they _would_ believe it.

“Baby?” the woman coos and he sinks back into his alcohol-fueled haze.

“Soul mates?” he slurs and lets his head fall back against the cushions of the limo’s back seat.  “No such thing, sweetheart.”

“But you sing about them!”

Jaime’ smile is as cruel as it can be when he has no feeling in his face.  “Anything to make a buck, baby.”

The girl flounces back on her seat, crossing her arms against her more-than-ample chest.  “So this weekend?  Doesn’t it mean anything to you?”  She’s pouting and Jaime sees her big eyes fill with tears and that strikes more terror in his heart than the fear she may not be as old as he thinks.

“Of course it does, darlin’.  It’s been amazing!” He’s sure he’s telling the truth; he just wishes he could remember where they’ve been and what they’ve done.  He does his best to smile his patented Jaime Lannister smile, guaranteed to have panties flying up on stage at his feet, but he’s not sure how successful he is because the girl—gods, _woman,_ he fervently hopes—is now watching him with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

“Yeah?” she snaps.  “What’s my name?”

*/*/*/*/*

They drop her off in front of her house.  Even pissed out of his mind and being, well, _Jaime Lannister_ , Jaime knows better than to simply leave a young woman stranded in a strange part of town.

Not that it hadn’t been tempting.  She screeched and screamed and cursed at him—most of which he’s heard before, if the familiarity of the words is anything to go by—and he had to not-so-gently explain they were in _his_ limo when she tried to kick him out of the car.  She even jumped out of the limo at one set of lights and they had to coax her back in.  After that, he offered to sit in the front with Bronn if it made her feel better.

She softened instantly and it led to a quite skilled attempt at a persuasive blowjob, but besides being drunk, the last thing he needs is a groupie who thinks they’re soul mates just because they fucked.

At least, he assumes they’ve fucked.

It’s a relief when she’s out of the car and they watch her walk rather forlornly to the large house in the suburbs and disappear round the back.  They pull away once they see a light go on inside.

Jaime leans his head back against the cushions with a sigh and lowers the window between him and his driver.

“Home, Bran,” he says.

“It’s Bronn, sir.”

Jaime chuckles.  “I know.”  He sighs.  “Just...take me home,” he says, and there’s a sadness in his voice that surprises even him.

They sit at a green light in silence until Jaime sighs again.

“I have a mansion somewhere in the city, so I’m told.”  This time his chuckle is bitter.  “If that hasn’t been stolen out from under me, too, that is.”

*/*/*/*/*

The place is huge and garish and blazing with light and there are cars parked everywhere, it seems.  There looks like a hundred people milling round the front yard, some of whom are engaged in an orgy behind a set of decorative shrubs, if the movements of their shadows are any indication.

Jaime scowls as he staggers from the car and turns to Bronn.  “Sure this is the right place?”

“It’s the only place that comes up on the StarMap app,” Bronn says.  “Maybe you rented it out?”

“Maybe.”  He glances over his shoulder at the place.  “Well, I’m sure I’ll at least find a place to crash for the night.”  He gives Bronn a crooked grin.  “Come searching for me tomorrow, yah?”

Bronn shrugs.  “Sure, why not?” he says and gets in the car and drives away.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime wakes to a painfully full bladder, a pounding headache, and his phone trilling his most famous hit song.  He groans and covers his head with a pillow and sighs with relief when his phone falls silent.  He doesn’t know what time it is, but it’s light in the room, so it’s obviously too early for him to be awake let alone speaking to anyone.

On the other hand, he really does need to piss.

He stumbles out of bed with his eyes mostly closed and staggers to the door.  He opens it and steps through, then stops. 

Something seems off.

He opens his eyes enough to realize he’s in a hallway.

Shit.

He hopes he hasn’t locked himself out of his hotel room.

Again.

He turns round and to his relief, the door opens beneath his hand.  He tries the only other door in the room and blinks uncomprehendingly at an empty closet.

What kind of hotel doesn’t have a bathroom attached to the room?

His phone starts singing again but he decides emptying his bladder is much more urgent.

He wanders back to the door and into the hallway.  If he can find the lobby...

*/*/*/*/*

He’s standing in a kitchen, utterly confused, when a plump, middle-aged woman walks in and jumps back with a small screech when she sees him.

“Bathroom?” he pleads.

She points at a door.  “Third door on the right.”

“You’re an angel,” he breathes.

*/*/*/*/*

He staggers back to the kitchen, a bottle of Pycellenol in his hand.  He’s glad to see the angel is still in the kitchen, although he now notices her mouth is pursed in disgusted disapproval.

“Can I get some water?” he says and holds up the pill bottle.

“Are you only going to take two of those?” she snaps even as she reaches for a glass and fills it for him.

“For now,” he says.  “Who knows, I may need two more in four hours or so.”

She sniffs, crossing her arms over her matronly breasts and glaring at him.

“Look,” he says after cautiously downing the water and Pycellenol, “can you tell me where I am?”

“You’re in a house.”

Jaime gives her a tired smile.  “I’ve finally figured that part out.  Whose house is this?”

“Jaime Lannister’s.  _The_ Jaime Lannister’s.  In Lannisport.”

“Huh,” he says as fragmented memories return:  the girl; nowhere else to go; Bronn dropping him off at the front door.  “Right.”

The angel sniffs, disapproval oozing from her pores.  “You can sleep it off, but you better be gone before the tenants get home.”

“Tenants?” he asks and wishes he wasn’t quite so hung over so he could remember when or if he’d been told he’d rented the place out.

She nods.  “They won’t be happy to hear about the party last night,” she says with glee. “Better you’re out of here before then, if you know what’s good for you.”

He nods again and thinks he’ll worry about all of this when he’s sobered up a bit.

He turns to go then pauses, frowning.  He turns back to the angel and says, “Do you know which room I’m in?”

*/*/*/*/*

It takes some searching but they finally find the room—mainly because his phone is fucking ringing— _again_.

“Well,” the angel sniffs, closing the door behind her, “at least you’re a fan of the man.”

Jaime grins then winces and crawls back under the covers.  His last thought before he returns to unconsciousness is that he should have asked the angel where the bathroom was on _this_ floor.

*/*/*/*/*

_Perfect, Jaime thinks smugly as the experiments ends._

_Just as he expected:  no Brienne in sight, and_ _—_ _he tests Megastar Jaime's_ _memories_ _—_ _no Brienne behind him, either._

_He hums the song he_ ' _d heard in this new universe as he recalibrates the equipment and begins the process of returning the generators to full power.  He texts Brienne to tell her the results, and to let her know he_ ' _s decided to run a second experiment before they switch places._

_He grins as he stands and stretches and slowly paces the control room._

_He loves it when he_ ' _s right._

*/*/*/*/*

_An hour later, the generators are ready.  He settles in his chair and eagerly presses enter._

*/*/*/*/*

He wakes once more to the sound of his own voice.  The phone goes silent then almost immediately begins singing again.

He curses, softly and creatively, and reluctantly decides he better see why the fuck his phone keeps making all that fucking noise.

He scrabbles for the annoying thing and looks at it with one eye slit open.

Thirty-seven missed calls.  He glances at the time:  ten. 

In the morning.

He groans and scrolls through the numbers.  A third from his agent; a third from his manager; and a third from a multitude of telemarketing numbers, most likely trying to sell him insurance or to scam his credit card information out of him.  Too late, he thinks in weary amusement.

There are messages, too, but thankfully only two.  He’s trained them well, he thinks as smugly as he can while still battling a raging hangover.  He flops back on to the bed and closes his eyes, but his bladder is screaming at him again, his mouth is drier than the Dornish desert, and he supposes he should listen to the messages and maybe get back to at least his manager.  Find out if he’d rented out this place.

He groans and shuffles out of bed, taking his phone with him this time, just in case the angel is gone and he never finds his way back.

*/*/*/*/*

He finds the bathroom by simply opening every door he sees.  He finds a few more stragglers from the party the night before, still passed out in various stages of undress but more importantly, he finds the blessed toilet.  He settles in and listens to his messages.  Short and to the point from his agent and his manager:  call me.

He calls his manager Addam first, not least because he’s currently sitting on the toilet and talking to Tyrion—his brother as well as his accountant—while doing so just leaves him open to all kinds of wrong…and bad puns if Tyrion realizes where he is.

Besides, Addam should know if he rented this place out and if he did, well...

Jaime grimaces and rubs the bridge of his nose.  Hopefully Taena left enough on his credit cards so he can find a fucking hotel room for the night.  Or maybe he can throw himself on the tenants’ mercy and offer to sing for room and board.

Addam answers.  “Finally!  Where the fuck are you?”

“At my house,” Jaime growls, his voice hoarse.

There’s silence at the other end of the line.  “Your _house_?”

“Gods, tell me I still own this place and that I haven’t just spent the night in a house owned by somebody else!”

“House, house, house,” Addam mutters then yelps, “oh!  _That_ place!  From a couple years ago?”

“I guess,” Jaime says.  “Did you buy more than one?”

“Over the years, yeah.  But that one—wait, I remember it now!  Picked it up for a song!  Belonged to a famous magician or maester or something.  Nobody wanted it when it ended up on the market but hopefully it’s doubled its value by now.”

“Good thing,” Jaime groans.  “At least I still have shit to sell.”

“Yeah, look.  I was calling to let you know Taena left the country.  She was on a plane to Myr the same day she disappeared along with all your money.”

“Of course she was,” Jaime says drily.  “She moves fast when she needs to.”

“Missed her by the skin of our teeth, really,” Addam says glumly.

“If I’d realized what she was doing just five minutes earlier, huh?”

“Yeah,” Addam sighs.

They end their call and Jaime finishes with the toilet, then eyes the shower.  He wonders if he can sweet-talk the angel in the kitchen into doing his laundry...or showing him where it is.

Then he curses and calls Addam again.

“Twice in one day?” Addam teases when he picks up the phone.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jaime says.  “Did you rent the house out to anyone?”

“Gods, no!” Addam replies.  “I barely remembered you owned the place!”

*/*/*/*/*

He cajoles the angel in the kitchen—Nan, it turns out—to see if she can find some clothes he can wear.  He has some luggage in the car, when or if Bronn ever decides to show up again, but until then...from the smell, he’s sure he’s been wearing the same clothes ever since he learned what Taena had done...which, as far as he can tell, was several days ago now.

He’s freshly showered and shaved, a bath towel slung low round his hips as he lounges in the living room Nan shoved him into with a disapproving scowl, when he finally calls Tyrion.

He holds the phone away from his ear as his brother’s curses shriek out of it at him.  He cautiously brings it back when it seems he’s finally run out of breath.

“What have I done?” he asks, resigned.

“ _What have you done?_   What have you done!  What _haven_ _’_ _t_ you done?  That hotel room is going to cost a fortune to repair!  Did it have to be the fucking penthouse suite?”

Jaime scowls, trying to remember any hotel over the last couple days then shakes his head.  “I guess we’ll have to give them my next two royalty cheques, then, huh?”

Tyrion pauses.  “It’s not going to cost _that_ much,” he mutters.  “Thank the gods the public still loves you, Jaime, or you’d be in jail or worse!”

Jaime grimaces.  “I know,” he says.  “Hey, this house I own in Lannisport?”

“What about it?”

“Did I rent it out to anybody?”

Tyrion cracks what Jaime assumes is supposed to be a laugh and he can hear the crinkle of paper over the phone and then the fizzing as the antacids hit the water. “Gods, no!  With your reputation, who the fuck would want it?”

“Love you, too, Tyrion,” he growls then looks up as the door opens and a woman bursts in.  She stops in her tracks when she sees him, her eyes widening, her jaw slowly dropping.  Nan’s looking righteously smug behind her but her look turns to puzzled confusion when the woman says nothing.

“Huh,” Jaime says to Tyrion, “I think my squatter just arrived.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he hears him mutter as Jaime disconnects the call.

He leans back on the couch, spreading his arms out on either side and takes a good, long look at the intruder.  There’s a fleeting feeling of horrified recognition, but even _he_ would remember if he’d ever met her before.

The woman is... _large_.  Taller than him, and he stands six-two in his stocking feet.  Broader than him, too, flat as a rail and with a face that can kindly be described as ‘having character’.  Her overly-plump mouth is hanging open and Jaime half-expects to see her start drooling at any moment.

He raises an eyebrow.

“One of the infamous tenants the angel warned me about?” he asks.

That snaps the woman’s mouth closed.  She scowls.  “Angel?”  She turns her startled, and really rather pretty eyes, on Nan, who gives her a puzzled shrug.

“Don’t be so modest, Angel,” Jaime says and thinks he’s enjoying this far too much considering he’s still battling the dragon-mother of all hangovers.

The giant woman’s glare turns accusing and Nan sputters an attempt at an offended denial.  Jaime decides to be helpful.

“She showed me a place to piss, gave me water, helped me find my room, and she’s going to find some clothes for me, too, aren’t you, Angel?”

Nan flushes a deep, dark red as she seems to notice his state of undress for the first time.

Jaime heaves a disappointed sigh.  “Well, can you at least throw my current clothes into the washer and dryer?  I’d do it myself, but I’m a bit under the weather.”  He turns sharp eyes to the tall woman, who seems to be expanding by the second.  He idly wonders if she’s going to physically explode before she can do it verbally.

“You’re trespassing on private property!” she finally screeches and he winces.

“Actually, it’s more like _you_ _’_ _re_ trespassing.”

“This is my house!”

“No, sweetheart, it’s _my_ house.”

Both Nan and his still nameless tenant blink and stare.

“You mean you’re—?” Nan trails off, looking like she’s about to faint.

Jaime gives them a crooked smirk.  “Why, yes, I am.”

“I want some identification,” the giantess snaps, her homely face marred by a scowl.

“Well, unfortunately, my wallet is in my other towel.  I take it you’re not a fan?”

She flushes.  “This is the Westerlands.  We had a Jaime Lannister impersonator at the last party I attended.”

“You go to parties?”

She glares, then grits out, “I was working it.”

Jaime raises his eyebrow.  “No offense, sweetheart, but you don’t seem like that kind of girl.”

Jaime half-expects blue lasers to shoot from her eyes, which really are quite lovely.

“I’m a caterer!”

“Really?  So how does a caterer earn enough to pay rent on a place like this?”

“Maybe I’m a world-renowned chef, have you thought of that?”

He tilts his head in agreement.  “Maybe you are.  What’s your name?  Maybe I’ve heard of you.”

“Not likely,” she sneers, “and it’s none of your damn business!  Nan, call the police.”

“Already on their way, ma’am.”

“Oh, good,” Jaime says.  “I hope it’s someone I know.”  He gives them his patented Jaime Lannister smirk.  “I’ve been arrested so many times, you see,” he adds helpfully.

“You’re pretty confident for a guy wearing nothing but a towel,” the giantess growls.

Jaime shrugs.  “I’m Jaime Lannister. There’s nothing under this towel the world hasn’t already seen...whether I wanted it to or not.”

“The police are on their way,” the woman insists, and he raises an eyebrow.

“Are they?  Really?  We both know you never rented this house.  I’ve just finished asking both my manager and my accountant and believe me, if anyone would know if I was making money, it would be them.”

The woman’s flushed face slowly pales.

“Look,” Jaime sighs, “as entertaining as this has been, I’m hungover to my toenails, I seem to have lost most of the last week along with a shitload of my money, and I’m really not a bad guy once you get to know me.  So tell me who you are, why you’ve been squatting in my house—although I don’t blame you on that one; it’s actually rather nice once you get past the tacky paint job—and why there was an orgy in progress when I arrived last night.”

“Org— _Nan_!”

Nan raises her hands in mock surrender.  “Don’t look at me, Brienne!  I just get to clean up after all that shit.”

“ _Where is she?_ ”

“Still asleep somewhere.  I didn’t even know where this one came from until he surprised me in the kitchen.”

“ _This one_ is still waiting for answers.”

There must be something in his tone because they exchange suddenly nervous looks and the woman—Brienne—turns to him and sighs.

“My name is Brienne Tarth, and you’re right.  We are squatting here.”

“Who’s ‘we’?  Or is Nan in my employ instead of yours?”

Nan gives him a look that should have struck him dead.  “I work for Brienne,” she says haughtily.

“And the other ‘she’?  Your friend?  Relative?  Wife?”

“Business partner,” Brienne growls.  “I really am a caterer and this house was sitting empty just when we were all suddenly homeless.”  She shrugs and deflates.  “Seemed like a good idea at the time,” she mutters.

“Until I decided to crash an orgy.”

She closes her eyes and nods.

“Who’s the orgy thrower?  Her I think I’ll like.”

“Of course you would,” Brienne says sourly.  “My business partner, Nymeria Sand.”

“Wonderful.”  Jaime smiles but even he can tell there’s a hard edge to it.  “I’m going to go back to bed and sleep off this hangover although it might take twenty years from the feel of it.  You’re welcome to stay until we get this sorted out.”  He stands and his smile turns mocking as Brienne’s eyes unwillingly drop to watch him adjust his towel. “And if you really did call the cops, you may want to call them back.”  He picks up his phone and saunters towards the door, then pauses and turns back to Nan with a frown.  “Do you remember which room I was in?”

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime becomes aware of the control room again and he scrambles to his feet, knocking his chair over as what he_ ' _s just experienced sinks into his_ _—_ _Jaime Prime_ ' _s_ _—_ _mind._

_No, he thinks almost desperately, no!  He should not have found another Brienne!_

_He pauses, trying to control his breathing.  He clutches the console and hangs his head, taking deep, slow breaths._

_When he feels calmer, he quickly sets the generators to slowly return to their full power.  Then he texts Brienne to let her know it is her turn in the facility._

_He fidgets restlessly, his mind racing as he watches the generators until he_ _’_ _s sure Brienne is only a few minutes away.  Then he leaves the facility like all the demons from all seven hells are on his heels._

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne passes Jaime's car on the long, winding road to the Wall.  She frowns because he seems to be driving even faster than usual and for a moment, she feels a flash of worry that he might fly off the narrow road._

_Then she remembers he’s Jaime Lannister and he lives a charmed life._

_She walks into the control room and settles at the computer.  She starts reviewing the data from Jaime’s experiment as she waits for the generators to return to full power._

_She works almost grimly, one part of her mind trying to work out the equations that would explain what they've been experiencing the last couple of days while wondering if she's going to find a universe where Jaime Lannister is not in Brienne Tarth’s life._

_There's a ping and she straightens in her chair._

_It's time._

_She hesitates because while she hates to admit it to herself, the thought of a universe where her counterpart doesn’t know Jaime makes her feel...lonely.  Silly, she knows.  You can’t miss what you’ve never known, and the Brienne she finds will have no way to know about Jaime.  She likely has somebody else who keeps her off-balance, who makes her blood boil and her body sing, even if he'll never know it._

_She shakes her head.  If there is a Brienne to be found in this next universe, she would not appreciate pity any more than she does._

_She smiles a little bitterly and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne sets the older children the task of patrolling the compound’s perimeter while she ventures out to the ruins of the city.

She knows she should take a couple of the oldest children with her—there’s safety in numbers—but this is a fast trip to search for reference books and salvage some parts for what she prays to the Seven will be a watermill and she doesn’t want to put the children at more risk than necessary.  Besides, the countryside has been relatively stable for the last few months and she hopes that means the worst of it is over—but she’s not holding her breath.  She’d been far too trusting already, she thinks bitterly, and her dreams are still haunted by those poor, broken bodies after the Mountain got finished with them.

The worst is knowing he’s still out there, somewhere, with his men and his cruelty and his... _appetites_.  She shies away from the memories.  Bile, as always when she thinks of that time, is already rising in her throat and they don’t have so much food she can afford to waste it by puking it up again.

She shakes off the memories and creeps closer to the city.  The compound isn’t far from it and she wonders every day if they should put greater distance between their camp and the remains of King’s Landing.  But the children have already lost so much; she can’t find it in her to force them from the only home they have left.

She peers from a copse of trees on the outskirts of the city.  She has a quarter mile to go before she’s in the city streets themselves and just because she can’t see anything right now doesn’t mean there aren’t people lurking in the dark houses and silent streets.  She wonders where the Mountain has gone with his men and shudders at the thought of running into him again.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne enters the city at first light and she’s deep in the ruined streets when the scrape of a boot against pavement has her spinning round, gun at the ready.  She peers into the shadows of burnt out buildings.

“Show yourself!” she barks.  The gun is rock steady in her hands, and a distant part of her marvels at how much she’s changed from the shy teacher’s aide she had been only two years ago.

“Brienne?” a man asks, incredulous, and Brienne pauses, peering hard at the shadows in which he’s hidden.

“Come out where I can see you!” she orders.

The man shuffles out of the darkness, slim with brown hair, a head shorter than her own six-three, his ordinary face is obscured by a thick, none-too-clean beard.  Despite that, she recognizes him easily enough.

“ _Hyle?_ ”

He gives her a grin as he eagerly nods.  “Brienne Tarth,” he says.  “I should have known that if anyone was going to survive the hellhole we’ve fallen into, it would be you.”  He gives her a considering look then nods with pleased satisfaction.

For a moment, Brienne’s blinded by rage.  Even now, even after the world has ended, even after most of those mocking men are likely long dead, she remembers the bet, the deceit, the devastating humiliation.  It should be less than important now, facing the man who had won the bet, but there’s something about his eagerness, about his expectation that she would be _glad_ to see him—

“Who else is with you?” she snarls and he blinks, looking startled.

“You know them all,” he says, soothing, still grinning, “they’re old friends.  Owen Inchfield, Mark Mullendore, Ronnet Connington.” 

“Your friends, not mine,” Brienne says coldly.  “What of the others?”  There had been so many in the bedroom that night, they had completely surrounded the bed.  She still doesn’t know how she managed to not only survive it but to keep moving forward with her head held high.

He looks suddenly sad.  “The others…I don’t know.”

“Dead,” Brienne says flatly, and feels no grief for the loss of that jeering crowd:  Farrow and Ambrose and Bushy; Raymond Nayland and Will the Stork.  Harry Sawyer.  Robin Potter.  If she had thought of any of them at all over the last two years, it was to hope they had died as painfully as so many others have done.  Yet here is Hyle Hunt with three of those bastards who had stood round the bed where she’d given her virginity, and they had all laughed as Hyle took their money.

She stomps those memories back into the box she’d built around them, and fights the urge to raise her gun and shoot Hyle where he stands, then find the others and do the same to them.  No one would hold her to account for it, after all; no one would even notice.

But that’s because the world isn’t the way it used to be, and because the world isn’t the way it used to be, she cautiously lowers her gun although she doesn’t holster it. 

They need every able-bodied, reasonably trustworthy person they can find, and she’s the only adult in a compound full of children—even if Jon Snow and Robb Stark would be offended by that description.  But they’re only fifteen and while she knows it’s impossible, she would like them to still have _some_ childhood left, even now.

She thoughtfully eyes Hyle.  She doesn’t want to believe he and the others have turned into homicidal monsters like the Mountain and his men, but the gods only knows what the new world has made them.

But she’s alone with them in the heart of a ruined city, and she either takes them with her as ostensible allies…or they’ll simply follow her and try to force their way into the compound anyway.

“Do you have food?” she snaps and her eyes narrow as Hyle grins as if he’s won something.

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne_ _’_ _s eyes are wet as the control room comes into focus._

_This is the worst yet, she thinks as she rapidly blinks the moisture from her eyes.  So much death and destruction and horror_ _…_ _and no Jaime.  She bites her lip, fighting back a sob._

_She doesn't_ _want to go back to that universe and not just because of the humiliations dealt to that Brienne by the men she's_ _found in the ruins of King's_ _Landing.  Westeros lies in ruins; every day they survive is a good day; the memories_ _…_ _gods , the memories_ _…_

_And there's_ _no Jaime, and that Brienne's gaping loneliness is almost physically painful._

_She takes a deep shuddering breath._

_She is a scientist, she is not that Brienne, and she has a job to do._

_She starts the generators building back to full power, then leaves to wash her face and pull herself together._

_By the time the Wall is ready for the next run of the experiment, so is she._

_She takes a deep breath and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

They spend a cautious night in the ruins after she barricades herself in a cubbyhole with her gun close to hand.

In the morning, she sends Hyle and his friends to find or build a cart of something similar that they can fill with scavenged materials and drag behind them when they return to the compound.  Not that she’s going to tell them where the compound is, and she fully intends to walk behind them, her gun in her hand the entire way.  She hopes she’s being overly cautious, because even if they somehow deduce the compound’s location and kill her on the way, Robb and Jon and the others will see them long before they find the compound proper, and all the children know sometimes they have to do what needs to be done.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Brienne ignores the memories away and heads to what remains of the Red Keep.  She’s hoping the maester’s library is still there and the books are still intact.  They have an entire city they can scavenge for materials but it means nothing if they don’t know what to do with it all.

As she makes her cautious way through the deserted streets, she keeps hearing slight sounds behind her.  It might be animals, but she suspects Hyle or one of the others is following her.  But every time she spins round, gun in hand, to look behind her, there’s no one there.  Still, her skin prickles, and she doesn’t holster her gun as she climbs Aegon’s Hill. 

She easily gains access to the courtyard of the ruined castle but the entrance to the Rookery is blocked with broken red stones that have fallen from the walls.  She considers the rubble and thinks she can clear a path if she just moves two or three of the largest stones.

She holsters her gun—and that, she realizes too late—is her mistake.

They’re on her in an instant, three men she’s fought before, something she realizes between punches and kicks and bites and the pain as their blows land against her flesh, as her nose breaks and blood gushes from it, choking her.  They tell her what they’re going to do to her, in crude and lurid detail, and the threats add speed to her limbs as she desperately blocks every attempt to grab her gun out of its holster.  She sends one man—Timeon—tumbling while she kicks another—Shagwell—away, and the third’s—Pyg’s—cheekbone breaks with a satisfying crack beneath her right fist.

Then Shagwell jumps on her back and pounds his fists against her ears and she bellows from the agony.  She finally manages to tear him off her but both Timeon and Pyg are advancing with maniacal grins—and then three gunshots crack through the Red Keep in rapid succession, and her three attackers drop lifeless at her feet.

The echoes seem to last forever and the resulting silence makes everything surreal, as if she’s in the middle of dream.  She stares at the bodies, her mouth hanging open as her nose continues to bleed and her injuries continue to ache.  Three on one, she thinks giddily, swaying a little, wishing she could just faint into blessed oblivion.  Three on one...and now they’re dead and she doesn’t know if her saviours are going to be worse than what she had just been facing.

Then _he_ strolls out of the shadows cast by mounds of fallen castle walls, and her jaw slowly drops as her eyes widen.

He’s tall, almost as tall as she is, with shaggy golden hair brushing his shoulders.  His thick golden beard can’t hide the sheer masculine beauty and power and arrogance that radiates from him with every step he takes.  She’s caught in a dizzying moment of relieved recognition which makes no sense, but it’s fleeting and most likely caused by the blows landed to her head.  He prowls round her like some golden beast of prey and she watches him warily, like a mouse watching a cat, and lowers her hand to hover over her gun.

He inspects the bodies, using the toe of his boot to almost delicately push at them, then turns his attention to her.

“You shouldn’t be out by yourself,” he growls.

Brienne wipes the blood from beneath her nose and says, “I can take care of myself.”  Even she knows how ridiculous that sounds under these circumstances.

He raises an eyebrow.  “Didn’t look like it from where I was sitting.”

She flushes.  “They surprised me,” she mutters.

“Yes, I noticed,” the man says drily then slowly rakes his eyes over her and shakes his head.  “We are truly living in desperate times if you’re the best they could do.”

Her shock turns to rage.

“Fuck you,” she growls.  “Rape is still rape, even if the world has ended.”

He gives her a surprised and amused look.  “I agree.  Why do you think I shot them?”

She grits her teeth. “Who are you?”

His smile is bitter.  “I used to be Jaime Lannister.  Who the fuck are you?”

The name is familiar and she scowls.  Several of the children at the compound are named Lannister, but that’s not why the name is tugging at her memory.  “Jaime Lannister...why do I know that name?”

He shrugs.  “In the days Before, I was notorious for murdering the Mad King of Westeros.”  He gives her a bitter smile.  “Not that it helped.  We ended up burning anyway.”

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne blinks, and she's once again seeing computer screens and not the ruins of King's Landing._

_She shaking, but whether it's from horror at what she’s seen or from sheer relief that this Brienne, too, has met her Jaime, she can't really say.  She groans and buries her face in her hands as the implications race through her mind._

_She has no idea how she's going to break the news to her Jaime, nor what he's going to think about the fact that the universe she found on her own has a version of him, while the one he found does not have a version of her._

_She scrubs her hands over her face and tells herself yet again that she's a scientist, and this is physics, and there's an explanation for everything._

_She texts Jaime to let him know she's finished, then begins powering down the Wall._

*/*/*/*/*


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Everything I know about string theory, spooky action at a distance, entanglement, and observation-determines-outcome I learned from PBS, NOVA, Brian Green, and the late, great, Ser Pterry Pratchett, whose Auditors of Reality are truly creepy. I apologize in advance to anyone who actually understands this stuff…but I did warn this fic would be butchering science for shits and giggles.

 

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne scowls as she watches the gauges as the Wall powers down.  She has to admit that a text simply telling Jaime she was finished was... _craven_.  She hesitates for another few minutes, then mutters curses beneath her breath as she dials his number.

“Yeah?”

Her scowl deepens.  “You sound stressed,” she says.  “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” he growls.  “How did it go?”

“Um...”

“Brienne?”  And now there’s concern in his voice.  “What happened?”

“It’s a brutal universe,” she mutters.  “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“But you phoned to tell me something now.”

She takes a deep breath, then blurts out, “I met another Jaime.  Or, rather, that Brienne met another Jaime.”

There’s nothing but lingering silence, and Brienne chews on her bottom lip as she waits for his reaction.

“Fuck,” he finally whispers and she winces.

“Well,” she says as brightly as she can, “at least _your_ experiment—”

“I met a Brienne, too.”

The world seems to rush towards her and away at the same time.

“Oh.”  Her voice feels very small.

The silence hangs between them until Jaime sighs.  “Do you need me to come back to the Wall?  Help you shut things down?”

“No,” she says.  “It won’t take long.”

“Okay; I’ll meet you in the hotel lobby.”

“Okay,” she says and groans as she disconnects the call.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime stands when Brienne walks into the lobby and simply holds up the small, flat bottles of whiskey he has in his hands and raises an eyebrow.  She blinks then nods.

He follows her into her hotel room, puts the whiskey on the night stand then dramatically throws himself across one of the queen-sized beds—the one with the rumpled blankets and pillow; she had likely been napping on it while waiting for him to finish his experiments.

She scowls.  “Seriously?” she says.

“We’re only seeing those universes where we have counterparts,” Jaime says, his voice muffled.  “It doesn’t matter if we’re alone in the facility when we run the experiment; the only universes we see are the ones where we both exist and where our paths cross.”  He sniffs at the pillow.  “Your shampoo smells nice,” he adds absently as he rolls over and sits up.

Brienne flushes a little.  “It’s off the shelf,” she snaps, then, “and we haven’t run the experiment often enough to draw that conclusion.  Maybe we just haven’t changed the frequencies of enough strings to get far enough away.  Maybe we’re still so close to our own universe that the differences in life events aren’t noticeable enough.”

Jaime twists open the whiskey and takes a swig from the flat bottle.  He grimaces against the burn as he holds it out to her.

She hesitates but Jaime can almost see her mind working as she decides that if there was ever a time in her life when a few shots of _something_ would be a very good thing, this is one of them.  She sits on the opposite bed, takes the bottle and swallows a small mouthful.  Jaime chuckles as she grimaces and coughs and chokes on the harsh liquor.

“We have a world still in the medieval period, it seems,” Jaime says, “another stuck in the 19th century, judging from the clothes and the justice system, and two that are relatively equivalent to our modern time.  What was the universe like that you found?”

She shifts uncomfortably.  “There’s been a complete societal collapse,” she mutters.  “Think the Mad Jon movies.”

Jaime’s amusement disappears and he shies away from thinking about what that Brienne—and that Jaime—has gone through.  He says, his voice tight, “Still want to insist the differences aren’t noticeable?”

She scowls then takes another small swig of whiskey and hands the bottle back to him.

“I meant between us and our counterparts.”

He frowns.  “You mean our probability curves are still too similar?”  He sounds skeptical.  He shakes his head.  “There is no way our paths should be crossing in all these different universes.  _No way!_   Gods damn it—in a random system, we _should_ have found at least one universe where we’ve never met and never will meet!”

Brienne’s bottomless blue eyes are suddenly filled with hurt.  “Is it really so bad?” she asks.  “Us meeting in every universe?  Is having _me_ in your life really so bad?”

Jaime immediately feels about two inches tall beneath the weight of those disappointed eyes.  He scrubs his hand over his face and sighs.  “It’s not _you_ , Brienne!  It’s not _us_!  It’s...”  He scowls, trying to think of how to say what he wants to say.  “The fact our counterparts meet in every universe even though we _should_ be finding random universes—ones where we never meet; ones where one or the other of us never existed; ones where we’ve met and gone our separate ways—the fact we’re _not_ finding those other universes smacks of...”

“Soul mates.”

He shakes his head.  “I don’t like the idea of destiny.  Fate.  We have free will, whatever universe we’re in, and to say that we—whichever Jaime we are; whichever Brienne—to think that we’re _destined_ to be in each other’s lives...I just...”  He shudders as he takes another, larger gulp of whiskey, almost relishing the burn of the liquor before he once again hands her the bottle.  “It feels... _wrong_.”

“Well,” Brienne says, thoughtfully, “maybe it’s not pre-destination.  Maybe it’s spooky action at a distance.  Entanglement; observation determining the outcome.”  She raises an eyebrow as she herself takes a swig of whiskey and hands the bottle back to him.

He considers her thoughtfully, amused and pleased, in spite of his agitation, by the rather smug look on her face.  At least it’s better than the hurt, accusing one that had been there a few moments earlier.  Plus her suggestion is...intriguing.

“You know I love it when you talk physics,” he purrs with a wicked grin, waggling his eyebrows, hoping to tease away the last of the lingering hurt in her eyes.  “Tell me more.”

She flushes as she rolls her eyes and shakes her head, a smile tugging at her mouth.  That’s better, he thinks.

Brienne says, “The act of observation determines the outcome, right?  At least that’s the theory.  We only see the universes where a Jaime has met a Brienne because _that’s who is running the experiments._   If we had—I don’t know—Tyrion and Jon running the experiments, they would only connect to universes where their paths cross.  And so on.”

“But why, then, do we still find our paths crossing even when we’re alone?”

“Because whether we like it or not, our paths _have_ crossed in our universe.  We can’t... _uncross_ them, even if we wanted to.”

Jaime ponders the idea, taking another sip from the bottle before handing it back to her.

“Not bad,” he mutters, “not bad at all, Junior.” He eyes her as she smiles and takes another sip of whiskey.  “But come on—you know you like the fact our paths have crossed.”

She coughs a little.  “Some days less than others,” she says drily and hands him the bottle.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne’s head is pounding when she meets Jaime for their morning workout.  The only thing that saves him is he looks as rough as she does.

“I think I seriously hate you,” she mutters as they make their way to the treadmills.

“I can’t hear you over the rock band in my head,” he growls.  “No racing today.”

She groans softly at the thought.  “I’m walking.”

“Me, too.  At least until I have to throw up.”

She can’t help but chuckle at little at that.

*/*/*/*/*

Breakfast is dry toast and orange juice but they agree they’re feeling more human by the time they reconvene in Jaime’s hotel suite.

“So...what now?” Brienne sighs.  Her head is still pounding, but the Pycellenol has at least taken the edge off.

“I don’t know about you, Junior, but I can’t handle any more memories in my head—at least not right now.”  He frowns.  “It’s just weird to think there’s a universe I haven’t seen.”

Brienne nods.  “I feel the same way,” she mutters.  “But I still can’t handle any more memories right now.”

Jaime nods.  “We need to crunch the data; see if we can determine when we’re connecting to which universe, and see if we can tailor our next set of experiments so we can connect to those universes at will.”

Brienne frowns.  “I’m not sure...we’re connecting as we cycle through changing the existing frequencies of strings in an enclosed space—”

“Yes, but do we need to ‘cycle through’, or can we change all the strings’ frequencies at once to the required combination?”

Her eyes widen.  “Like dialing the combination on a safe,” she whispers.

Jaime grins.  “ _Exactly_ like dialing a combination on a safe.”

*/*/*/*/*

They have the Wall for two more days, so they take advantage of its powerful computers to review the data they’ve gathered, and to run simulations of Jaime’s proposed experiments.  They’re cautiously optimistic when none of the simulations result in a catastrophic failure of the Wall and everything in and around it.

They return to analyzing the results of their experiments, bickering over new formulas and equations, and beginning the process of defining the parameters of the new experiments they’ll run once they finagle more time with the accelerator.

“Don’t worry, Junior,” Jaime says with a smirk.  “Remember, Lannister money is funding these experiments.  We’ll be back sooner rather than later.”

She frowns, torn.  On the one hand, she does want to get time at the accelerator again as soon as possible, and hopefully connect again to those same universes, but she also knows there’s other important research being done by other scientists that they would be interrupting.

Jaime looks at her face and chuckles.  “If we can figure out how to connect to each universe at will, then we can share our time at the Wall with other scientists.  They can have it during the day, and we can have it at night.”

“Won’t work,” she says mournfully, “we still need the generators at full power, and that takes twelve hours.”

“But they’ll be partially there if other scientists are using the Wall, too,” Jaime says, then sighs.  “We’ll work something out that will ease your conscience, Brienne.”

She pouts a little.  “Other research projects aren’t funded by people as rich as you are, Jaime.”

“I know,” he says.  “If I promise to donate some money in your name to help build another particle accelerator somewhere in the world, would that help?”

She rolls her eyes.  “Don’t be so ridiculous,” she mutters.

Jaime grins.  “Think of it like this:  if we really can’t share, then we’re only delaying other experiments by a week at a time—at most.  We’re not stopping those experiments forever.”

“I know.”

“You still feel guilty,” he says, resigned.

She shrugs.  “A little.”

“But hopefully not so guilty that you’ll refuse to continue the experiments?”

She glances at him from the corner of her eyes.  “No, not that guilty,” she grudgingly admits and smacks his shoulder as he laughs.

*/*/*/*/*

In spite of their eagerness to continue their work, they’re both ready to get away from Castle Black, and for once, Brienne has no qualms about taking advantage of Lannister money.  She accepts a seat on the Lannister’s private jet Jaime called, and they arrive in King’s Landing at one a.m., twelve hours earlier than originally planned.

Brienne darts away before Jaime can also offer her a ride home.  She leaves him with an airy wave of her hand and a promise to talk to him soon.  The rush of relief she feels when she’s finally back in her small house with the door securely locked behind her makes her knees weak, and she sags against the door.

The house feels cold and empty with the dog still at the kennel; she’ll pick Pod up tomorrow as planned.  But for now, she’s just grateful to be alone to sort through her thoughts...and the thoughts of four other Briennes.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime’s eyes narrow as the cab pulls up to the secluded house he shares with Taena.

There’s a black SUV in the driveway, jacked to the gills, and if he’s not mistaken, it belongs to one of those useless Kettleblacks on staff at the university.  How any of them held on to their jobs...

“Getting out, buddy?” the cab driver says and Jaime jolts back to reality.

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “but...wait for me.  I think I may be leaving again almost immediately.”

The cab driver shrugs and puts the car in park.  “Your dragons, pal,” he drawls and settles back against his seat to wait.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime silently enters the house, turning off the alarm, then uses the flashlight on his phone to scan the living room in the half-hearted hope that somebody’s sleeping on the couch.

He then makes his careful way up the stairs, and checks both spare rooms before he finally steps to the door of the master bedroom.

He takes a deep breath, then silently opens the door and switches on the light.

*/*/*/*/*

He doesn’t stay to hear the explanations or the bluster.  He simply grabs his second toiletries bag from where it’s hidden in the bathroom and walks out of the house.

*/*/*/*/*


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   Threats of rape.  I told people that Prince Jaime gets worse before he gets better. And, of course, canon-compliant coarse language.

*/*/*/*/*

Tyrion plies Jaime and the cab driver—Jorah, Jaime thinks his name is—with the finest Northern whiskey and listens to Jaime’s story.  It’s not until they’re on their fifth drink that Jaime says with drunken suspicion, “You’re not surprised.  You knew?”

Tyrion sighs and gives him a steady look.  “I suspected.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Would you have believed me?  Taena has kept you blinded your entire time together.  I somehow doubt my suspicions—and no proof—was going to change that.”

Jaime shakes his head.  “S’pose not,” he slurs and has another drink.

*/*/*/*/*

At some point, Jorah and Tyrion start sharing stories of the women they’ve loved and lost, and Jaime’s last memory of the night is listening to Jorah explain how and why he went to prison.  Jaime’s last thought is a that he really needs to ask more questions of his cab drivers before inviting them to go drinking with him.

*/*/*/*/*

The next morning, with Tyrion and Jorah’s drunken snores piercing his ears, Jaime peers at his phone through barely functional eyes and texts Brienne that he’s going to the Summer Isles for a couple of days, then falls back in his seat on the Lannister private jet and prays they land before he has to puke.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne is not surprised that Jaime promptly disappears with Taena to the Summer Isles for several days.  To be honest, it’s a bit of a relief.  She uses the time to reassure Pod—a small dog of uncertain pedigree who had followed her home one day—that she’s back and will stay that way for a while.  She also continues analyzing the data they’d gathered, refining their new equations, and e-mailing all the colleagues she knows who might have time booked on the Wall, trying to call in some favors and doing some old-fashioned horse-trading to get them more time at the Wall sooner rather than later.

In the evenings, she thinks with wistful envy of Jaime and Taena lazing on the beaches of the Summer Isles.  Each night she allows herself a moment to wish she was the one with Jaime, and another to wish she was as beautiful as Taena, before shaking off her melancholy.  Being jealous of Taena is like being jealous of the moon, and wishing for Jaime is even more useless.  She sighs, absently gives Pod a pat, and starts crafting her next e-mail.

*/*/*/*/*

“You summoned me, oh, master,” Brienne says sarcastically as she walks into Jaime’s office a couple of days later.

He glances up at her and she blinks a little at the complete lack of humor in his eyes.  She looks more closely and sees that while he’s tanned, he looks tired and tense.

“I’ve been doing the math,” Jaime says, taking off his reading glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.  “We can jump from universe to universe by changing all of the necessary strings’ frequencies at once, rather than having to rev them up, so to speak.  If we do that, we can get to each universe immediately.  It may also result in a longer connection to that universe if we can maintain the combination of frequencies.”

Brienne raises an eyebrow as she unslings her purse then drops into the chair in front of Jaime’s desk.  “How much longer?”

“At least five seconds.”

Her eyes widen.  “That’s pushing the limits of the Wall and its EM barrier to the extreme,” she says.

He gestures for her to join him behind his desk.  He perches his glasses back on his nose as she leans over his shoulder, peering at the equations on his computer screen.

“Maintaining the frequencies for five seconds is pushing the Wall’s capabilities, I agree, but we can connect to several universes—or the same universe several times—in a single night.”

“We’ll blow the generators!  Or the EM barrier!”

“Not if we allow at least a half-hour of down time between... _pulses_ , I suppose we can call it.”

She scowls as she peers at the equations, her lips moving a little in her concentration.  She shakes her head as she straightens, her hand resting on the back of his office chair.  “It’s dangerous,” she says.

“No more dangerous than the original round of experiments, and now that we know we can connect to other universes—now that we know we can see them—we have to push the limits to learn all we can.”

She shakes her head.  “It’s dangerous,” she says stubbornly, “and possibly reckless.”

“Reckless,” he snorts.  “I’ve triple-checked the equations and have already run two simulations.  The Wall and the EM barrier are still standing after both simulations.  There’s nothing reckless about it.”

“Well, I’m going to quadruple-check the formulas and run my own simulations, thank you very much.”

He rolls his eyes.  “Of course,” he says drily.

“Not that we can do anything about running new tests any time soon,” she says, and now her mouth turns down almost into a pout.  “I’ve begged and bargained and threatened everyone I know.  Nobody’s willing to budge.  We won’t be getting time on the Wall for months.”

“Ah, that.”

Her eyes narrow.  “Don’t tell me you’ve jumped the line again.”

His smile is thin.  “Don’t worry, Junior—you can still sleep soundly at night.  We have not jumped the line again.  However, there are a few days next month where the facility has no experiments scheduled in the evenings and overnight.  We can use it then.”

She scowls.  “The generators—”

“Will already be at partial or almost full power before the end of the day’s experiments.  Even if they’re only at half-power at six in the evening, that means we can still start running our experiments by midnight.  With half an hour between pulses, we could visit all five universes every night we’re there.  Unless that’s too reckless for you, of course.”

Brienne considers him with a suspicious scowl.  “I’m going to check the equations and run my own simulations,” she says again.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“And I want to talk to the Wall’s Director myself.”

Jaime heaves a mock-sigh and shakes his head.  “We really need to work through your trust issues—”

“Shut up,” she snaps and flushes a dark red even as she smacks his shoulder.

*/*/*/*/*

They easily settle back into their usual routine: meeting most mornings to work out before going to their offices or their lab to continue analyzing the data, bickering over their theories and equations, and arguing over the best way to identify the exact combinations of string frequencies for each universe they’ve found.

“I know we thought of it as the combination to a safe,” Jaime says late one evening, “but mayhaps we should call it the address, instead.”

“Well,” Brienne says absently, frowning at her laptop, “if we get the frequencies right, then I suppose it really is an address.”

“And if we get the frequencies wrong?”

She glances up and gives him a half-smile, “Then I guess we’ll see if we find a different universe.”

He chuckles a little at that and turns back to his own laptop.  He’s acutely aware that Brienne’s lovely eyes have a worried gleam as she watches him.  He’s caught puzzled confusion in her face ever since he returned from the Summer Isles.  He knows he should tell her about Taena before she learns about it from somebody else—most likely Tyrion, because his brother usually keeps a secret exactly as long as it takes him to dial a phone.  The fact Tyrion hasn’t told Brienne anything yet is a minor miracle, as far as Jaime is concerned.

He heaves a silent sigh.  He knows why he doesn’t want to tell Brienne:  because what happened with Taena follows too closely to what happened to the Jaime in the one universe Brienne hasn’t seen yet.  The end of his relationship with Taena, here in the Prime universe, makes him... _uneasy_ , although exactly how and why isn’t something he understands yet.  Or wants to put into words.

He glances at Brienne, once more scowling at her laptop.

The sooner they can get back to the Wall and continue their experiments, the better.

*/*/*/*/*

Three weeks after they left Castle Black, they meet on the Lannister private plane to return to the Wall.  Brienne feels guilty for putting Pod back in the kennel so soon, even though she knows he’s well cared for there.  Still, the sad-eyed look on his furry face this morning lingers until Jaime finally says, “You should bring him next time.”

She starts and blinks at him.  “What?”

“That ratty little mutt of yours.  Bring him next time.  We’re flying on a private plane, and we can give him the run of the Wall while we’re working.”

Brienne frowns.  “He’s not ratty, and that would throw off the experiments.”

Jaime grins, the first real grin she thinks she’s seen since they returned to King’s Landing almost a month ago. 

“Always the scientist,” he murmurs.  “Okay, then he can have the run of my hotel suite while we’re working.”

She rolls her eyes.  “He’s fine,” she mutters, feeling a little ridiculous that he can tell she’s pining for her dog and not, say, a boyfriend.  She really needs to try dating again.

Maybe.

“Well,” Jaime says, “the option’s there.”

“Well...thanks,” she says, then gives him an almost bashful smile.  “Seriously. Thank you.  If we’re going to be going back and forth more often, then I may take you up on that.  But until then, Pod’s fine in the kennel.”

“But are _you_ fine with him in the kennel?  I don’t want your worry for your ratty little mutt to get in the way of our work.”

She rolls her eyes.  “He’s not ratty, and stop being an arse.”

Jaime laughs and winks.  “Got you out of your funk, didn’t it?”

She rolls her eyes again, but she’s secretly pleased that he finally seems happier than he’s been the last couple of weeks, even if it is at her expense.  “Can we work, please?”

“Of course, my lady,” he says, mocking, and opens his laptop.

*/*/*/*/*

_The other physicists give them considering looks as they leave the Wall’s control room.  Jaime simply smirks at them, then checks all the security feeds to ensure he and Brienne are truly alone in the facility.  Neither of them are willing to expose an unsuspecting person to the experiments—and they don’t want to inadvertently stumble onto another universe.  Not yet, anyway._

_The generators are almost at full power when they arrive, so the generators are ready by the time they’ve finished uploading their program into the Wall’s computers._

_They scan the facility and the grounds one more time, then Jaime pulls up a chair beside Brienne and gives her a wicked smile._

_“Ready, Junior?” he says._

_She rolls her eyes._

_“Ready,” she says, and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne shifts uncomfortably, this dress fitting even worse than her so-called wedding gown the day before.  She immediately stills when she catches sight of her father’s warning frown, although she feels even more awkward and ungainly as she stands beside her beautiful good-sister, facing her— _gods_ —equally beautiful husband, Prince Jaime, as they bear witness to Princess Cersei’s marriage to King Eddard Stark of the North.  As King Ned swings his cloak over Cersei’s shoulders, the last element of the truce the Kings had negotiated is complete.

Brienne takes Prince Jaime’s arm and follows the newly-married couple out of the Great Sept and tries not to think of where _her_ new husband had been the night before—and she tries not to notice the grief and rage that’s fighting for dominance in his eyes as he looks at his sweet sister.

*/*/*/*/*

The wedding feast is pleasant enough, Brienne thinks, sipping delicately at her wine.  She struggles not to hunch her shoulders, remembering Septa Roelle’s edict to sit up straight, even if she is an unsightly child.  But it’s her years as Lord Commander on the battlefield that straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin despite her scarred face and how ridiculous she looks in this gods-bedamned gown.  She had to earn her field command, she reminds herself, against those who held no love for her then or now.  But she is now used to command, used to holding men’s lives in her hands, used to being looked to for orders and leadership, and this, she staunchly tells herself is no different.

No one speaks to her.  Prince Jaime is on her right, and to his right is his sweet sister, who is seated next to her new husband.  There is no one on Brienne’s left, and her father, King Selwyn, is to King Tywin’s right while King Eddard is to King Tywin’s left.  There is a lovely young woman to King Selwyn’s right, and Brienne knows that if the young woman is willing, her father will have no time for anyone else the next few days.

She amuses herself with watching the high-born families in the Great Hall, reminding herself of their allegiances and the extent of the armies they can still put into the field of battle, even after all these years of war.  She’s vaguely aware of Prince Jaime whispering with his sister, the tone of the whispers growing steadily more animated.  She glances towards them and notices Cersei pouting as she turns to King Eddard while Jaime turns to glare at Brienne.  Brienne scowls, wondering what she could possibly have done to cause him to glare at her so. 

Jaime seems about to speak to her for the first time since they sat at the table, but King Tywin forestalls him.

“King Eddard,” King Tywin says, waving away the young messenger who had been whispering in his ear, “I have just received news that a late winter storm has begun raging outside.  While I know you are no stranger to such weather, my sweet daughter is made of more delicate stuff.  I ask that you and your new bride linger in King’s Landing until the storm clears.”

Brienne hears Jaime’s sharply indrawn breath as she feels the blood leave her own face.

King Eddard stands and bows.  “I accept your invitation, Your Grace,” he says, his grey eyes solemn.  “‘Tis just as well; I’m suddenly feeling ill, and would beg your leave to retire to our apartments with my new bride.”

The watching crowd hoots at the words, but Brienne sees the greenish cast to King Eddard’s skin.  She realizes he’s speaking naught but the truth and is not simply hastening his and his wife’s arrival at the marriage bed.  Mayhaps he’s as pleased to be married to Princess Cersei as she, Brienne, is pleased to be married to Prince Jaime.

And Cersei is to remain in King’s Landing for several more days.

Brienne grabs her wine goblet and takes a deep drink.

_“What are you doing?”_

She starts, spilling wine down her chin and splashing some on the sleeve of her dress.  “I-I-I-I’m having some wine,” she stammers and immediately feels like a fool.

He grabs the goblet from her hand.  “How much have you had?”

“I am not drunk, Your Grace, and I resent that you would think I am,” she hisses, glancing round to see if anyone is paying attention, but everyone is focused on King Eddard and the now-Queen Cersei as they make their way from the Great Hall.  She turns back to Jaime and sways, suddenly dizzy.

Jaime’s smile is cruel as he calls for serving girls.  “Help me with the Princess,” he orders.

“I don’t need—” Brienne says, and the world goes black.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne tries to move and finds her arms and legs are caught.  She panics, remembering a slash to her face, of the horse falling beneath and above her, of the weight of the beast on top of her, trapping her so she is unable to move.  There’s no pain, so she can’t have broken anything but to be unable to stand, to lift her arms to defend herself in the field of battle—

Her eyes fly open with a cry and she’s confused to see a ceiling made of stone above her.  She’s cold, she thinks, and unable to move and for a heart-stopping moment, she wonders if the horse has broken her spine.  She cries out again and tries to sit up and only then realizes she’s not paralyzed but tied to a bed, naked and spread-eagled.

She spins her panicked gaze round the room until it alights upon Jaime, sitting on a chair at a table, a goblet of wine at his elbow, his green eyes cold as he watches her without expression.

It takes a long moment for her to understand what is happening and then she groans and lowers her head back to the bed and closes her eyes.  She has another moment of sheer terror that Jaime has simply taken what he needs from her body, but she forces herself to calm enough to do an assessment of her body.  There’s no sharp pain between her legs, the pain Septa Roelle assured her is the worst pain outside childbirth for an unnatural woman like her.  The realization Jaime has not yet forced himself upon her makes her limbs liquid with relief.

She swallows and only then realizes she’s thirsty.

She again opens her eyes and looks as calmly as she can at the man sitting and watching her with an impossible-to-read expression.

She swallows again and says, “Wine?”

He stands without a word and dribbles some wine into her mouth.  She swallows and coughs on it, then licks it from her lips and he turns abruptly away, cloak swirling, to put the goblet on the table beside him.  He gracefully retakes his seat and Brienne has the childish wish that the chair would break beneath his arse and tumble him unceremoniously to the ground.  But the chair holds and after a moment, he lifts his gaze to hers.

“The wedding feast?” she croaks out.  “You drugged the wine?”

His shrug is nonchalant.

They stare at each other for another long, silent moment and Brienne realizes with surprise that she’s not even angry.  She wounded his pride, threatened to cuckold him and place another man’s children on the Southron Throne.  No man could hear such threats, do nothing, and still call himself a man.  Let alone the Prince of the Realm, heir to the Throne.  What he’s doing with his sister may be an abomination in the eyes of the gods, but he’s still going to be King someday, with all the pride and arrogance such a future breeds in a man.

“Why haven’t you raped me yet?” she asks.

He lifts an eyebrow.  “Who says I haven’t?” he purrs.

Her eyes widen and fear spikes through her—but no.  There’s still none of the never-ending pain her septa had described to her.

“But...it doesn’t hurt,” she blurts and now it’s his eyes that go wide.

“Well,” he says slowly, “the pain is fleeting, so I’m told.  Not that it matters.  You are correct, Your Grace:  I have not raped you while you slept.  This—” he waves one graceful hand indicating her naked body sprawled lewdly on the bed and she flushes “—is a mere demonstration of exactly how much power you have in this marriage.”

Brienne glares as the last of the drug clears from her mind.  “You may have a small measure of physical power over me, Your Grace, but that is not the only power that is in this marriage.”

“If you try to pass another man’s child as mine, I will have your head,” Jaime says softly, which only makes the threat more terrifying.

“If you continue to fuck your sister, I will have _your_ head—and I do not mean the one on your shoulders.”

That takes him aback and his lips twitch towards a smile before he catches himself.  “So you know something about male anatomy,” he purrs.

“I was a Lord Commander leading an army,” she growls in return.  “Of course I know something about male anatomy.”

“But apparently nothing about the female one,” he says thoughtfully, and his eyes gleam.

He stands and strolls towards her and she forces herself not to cringe away from him.  She does flinch when he reaches out but he simply frees one of her hands and steps away from the bed.  He returns to his chair while she quickly unties herself and wraps the blanket round her naked body.

He says, “I have no desire to fuck an unconscious woman, whether she’s threatened to cuckold and geld me or not.  But I do want us to come to some kind of truce.”

“Truce?” she practically spits.  “You drugged me, stripped me naked, tied me to my bed, threatened me with rape!”

“And you have threatened to erase my family line from existence!”  He leans forward, green eyes gleaming.  “And one thing you should have learned from facing me in the field of battle, Your Grace:  _I will do whatever it takes to win_.”

Brienne rolls from the bed, cocooned in the blanket.  She walks to the table and glares down at the infuriating, gorgeous man.

“So will I,” she growls and points at the wine.  “Is that drugged, too?  Or is it something I can use to quench my thirst?”

He smirks as he pours some wine and drinks it.  “Satisfied?”

“For now,” she says and pours her own small measure and drinks it quickly, then pours herself another, slightly larger measure, as she thoughtfully considers him.  “A truce,” she says.

“Like it or not, we are now husband and wife, and in due time, we shall be King and Queen of Westeros.  Our fathers arranged this marriage so the realm can have peace.  Do you truly wish to tear it apart any further?”

“If I wished to continue the war, I would have refused the marriage,” Brienne says.

Jaime nods.  “I would have done the same.  I agreed because the smallfolk need peace.  They need a King and a Queen who will at least work together, if nothing else.”

Brienne takes an almost delicate sip of her wine.  “Truce,” she says again, thoughtfully.  “Mayhaps I am willing to strike a bargain.”

He raises an eyebrow as he, too, pours himself another glass of wine and sips it.  “A bargain.”

“I will give you the heirs you need, Your Grace, for the sake of the realm.  Two sons.”

He smirks.  “And you will not stop trying until you give me two sons, is that the bargain?”

Her own smirk is almost as cynical as his.  “It depends on how long you wish to uphold your end of the bargain.”

“And what is to be my end of the bargain?”

She leans over him, knowing her size and the scars on her face are enough to intimidate even Prince Jaime—although to his credit, he doesn’t move.

“So long as you are fucking me, you will not fuck your sister or any other woman.  You will not stand for being a cuckold; why would you think I would stand for it, either?”

Jaime snorts a little.  “I’ve seen you naked now, Princess.  You are no man.  You cannot be cuckolded.”

“I will not pretend to turn a blind eye to your affairs, Your Grace,” she snaps.  “You want heirs of your blood?  That is my bargain.  Do your duty, and remain faithful until such time as there are enough heirs to the Southron Throne, and you can be assured the children will be yours.”

“You ask me to forsake my sister for you?” Jaime sneers.

“I ask you to delay satisfying your own selfish desires for the sake of the realm,” she growls.  “With luck, I shall fall pregnant quickly and give you two sons within two years.  And then, Your Grace, we shall both be free to pursue our own happiness.”

Jaime thoughtfully considers her.  “I agree,” he says slowly.

She straightens.  “Do you give me your word?”

“I swear that from this moment until you give me two sons, I will honour our wedding vows and remain faithful to you.”

She nods.  “I accept your oath.  It will be easier for you to keep it, of course, once your sweet sister is in the North.”

“The storm is already waning,” he says lightly.  “She and her new husband will likely be on their way in the morning.”

Brienne nods again.  “Good.”

Jaime smirks and raises an eyebrow, his eyes slowly travelling down the length of her body then back up again to meet her gaze.  “Should we do our duty now?”

She glares, her cheeks glowing hot.  “Get out.”

He laughs as he leaves.

*/*/*/*/* 

_Brienne is burning with rage and humiliation.  She turns to Jaime, who’s staring at her with wide eyes._

_“You bloody bastard,” Brienne hisses._

_Jaime blinks and raises his hands in a placating gesture.  “I didn’t do anything,” he says._

_“You drugged me!  Stripped me naked!  Tied me to the bed!”  She’s screeching by the time she’s finished and Jaime winces and shifts uncomfortably._

_“Yes, well, in case you’ve forgotten:  that wasn’t you just like it wasn’t me.  You need to remember which universe you’re in, Brienne.”_

_She stops, blinking owlishly.  She forces herself to accept the truth of what he’s saying._

_“I...yes.  You’re right.”  She breathes deeply, trying to calm herself._

_They subside into awkward silence and then Jaime says, “So...do you have that lion-shaped cluster of freckles on your right hip?”_

*/*/*/*/*


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Um…non-graphic descriptions of the aftermath of a fight, so mentions of blood and bruises. That’s about it, I think, except for a random ‘fuck’ or two.
> 
> **A/N1:** Happy New Year! May 2017 be nothing but good things for you and yours.
> 
> **A/N2:** Updates are going to take a little longer from here on out, I think, because I’ve hit major gaps in every storyline so it’ll take more time to finish each chapter.

 

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime expected Brienne’s yelp of outrage and her storming from the control room.  But it at least allows him time and privacy so he can adjust himself in his suddenly too-tight jeans.

They’re not his memories, he knows, and what Prince Jaime did to Princess Brienne is—on the surface—reprehensible.  But he can’t quite shake the sight of all that creamy skin out of his mind.  Freckled, yes, but the freckles are like dark stars against a pale sky and—

He abruptly stops and groans, resting his head in his hands.

Those are Prince Jaime’s memories, he tells himself, Prince Jaime’s thoughts, Prince Jaime’s reactions, not _his_.  He had Taena and he loves her, and her dark beauty is miles away from Brienne’s broad shoulders and pale skin and all those damned freckles.

He rubs his hands over his face and shakes his head.

Mayhaps continuing these experiments isn’t the great idea it seemed in King’s Landing.

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne returns, still angry and embarrassed, but more composed._

_She sits down in her chair and glances at the clock.  “It’s been half an hour,” she says, not quite meeting his gaze._

_He nods, avoiding direct eye contact as well, and clears his throat.  “Do you want to connect to the same universe again, or try one of the others?”_

_She flushes.  “I think we should make sure we’ve got the ‘addresses’ correct for all of them,” she mutters, blinking down at her hands where they’re resting on the keyboard.  “We can talk about which ones we want to reconnect with tomorrow.  We still have two more nights.”_

_“Right,” Jaime says, relieved.  “Right.”  He, too, glances at the clock.  “Ready?”_

_She looks at him from the corners of her eyes.  “Ready,” she says, and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

They sit on the swing in companionable silence, and to Brienne, for these peaceful moments, it feels like time has been turned back and suspended.  It feels as if Jaime never left and mayhaps, if she looks long enough towards the horizon, she’ll see her father coming home for supper.

She blinks the wistful thought away as the girls run on to the porch, carrying their garden treasures for their inspection.  There are some tiny new potatoes and onions and radishes, and enough lettuce to fill even Jaime’s endless stomach even if Brienne can find nothing else to serve him.

Jaime grins at the girls.  “You did good, ladies,” he says and Alysanne blushes.  Brienne bites back a smile and a sigh.  Alysanne is fourteen, as pretty as their mother but as shy as Brienne, and Brienne hopes with all her heart she’ll be able to guide her sisters through the perils of boys and love, and that they’ll be much luckier than she has been.

The girls take the vegetables into the kitchen and Brienne idly thinks she needs to go and see what kind of a meal she can create that won’t raise Jaime’s suspicions.  There’s still some meat in the freezer from when they butchered last fall; that, along with the vegetables—

“Come to the wedding with me,” Jaime says abruptly, startling her.

She gapes then laughs.  “You’re mad.  If you want to make some kind of statement to your father about how well you’re doing, you should take some gorgeous starlet to the wedding.  You must have met some in your travels the last few years.”

Jaime groans.  “I could, but then it would have to be a photo-op—that’s how those ‘dates’ work, you know.”

“Well, you know I avoid cameras,” Brienne says drily.

“I remember.  Come on.  I won’t pretend it’ll be fun but we can get drunk together and maybe even dance a bit.”

Brienne flushes.  The last time she’d been to a dance, she’d been the belle of the ball until she discovered all the men begging for a dance and plying her with drinks had all laid down money to see who would be the one to convince her to go out to their car and let them have their way with her.  She’s barely been into town since, and she’s definitely never gone to another dance.

“I—I don’t want to dance,” she mutters.

“Ah, so you’ll come with me?”  Jaime’s grin is far too self-assured.

“No—”

“Come on!  You can’t want me to suffer by myself!”

“I have nothing to wear!”  And that, at least, is the unvarnished truth.  She hasn’t been able to buy new clothes since her father died and while she’s reasonably skilled with a needle, all of her efforts have gone to keep her sisters in pretty dresses and to keep her own trousers and shirts mended.

“Look,” Jaime says, “because I’m asking you to do this as a favour to me, I would be honoured if you’d let me buy you a dress.”  He lifts a hand as she opens her mouth in outraged protest.  “You can give it away to charity the day after the wedding, or make it into cushion covers or curtains or something.  I don’t care.  I’m not offering out of charity; it’s purely selfish.  I don’t want to watch Cersei marry that buffoon without a friend by my side and...”  He sighs.  “Let’s face it:  a random gorgeous starlet just wouldn’t understand.”

And she would, Brienne thinks, resigned.  After all, she grew up with Jaime and Cersei, the Golden Lannister Twins, and she knows all of Jaime’s secrets.  She knows his relationship with his sister is close yet strained and extremely competitive.  Twins, yes, and they love each other, but Jaime is so unlike Cersei, Brienne can’t understand how they shared a womb.  Then there’s their father...

Brienne hides a sigh. 

She’s going to lose this argument with Jaime, just like she’s lost every argument she’s ever had with the blasted man since the moment Jaime had taken one look at her their first day of school and promptly declared her his best friend.  Best friends, and it had been glorious and annoying, and she was twenty before he actually—just once—realized she was a girl.  Unfortunately, it was also the day he discovered she was pining for Renly Baratheon and he’d burst her daydreams by hooting over her complete blindness when it came to Renly’s sexuality.  They had exchanged angry words, and she’d stomped away, tears in her eyes, but it was really no worse than some of the other arguments they’d had over the years...only this time, a week later, he had left without speaking to her again.

And six months after that, she’d lost her father, and any half-baked ideas she might have had of following Jaime to King’s Landing and demanding an explanation were lost with him.

She blinks the memories away and looks at Jaime.  “We’ll be lucky to find a dress that fits,” she says.  “The wedding’s this weekend, isn’t it?”

Jaime smirks as he sips his iced tea, his green eyes sparkling.  “Don’t ask too many questions, Stretch, and leave it all to me.”

For a moment she glares, irritated at his devil-may-care attitude and feeling like there’s suddenly a chasm the width of the Narrow Sea between them.  No matter if it feels like she only saw him yesterday, he did leave without saying good-bye and it’s been five years, and he’s now a rising star while she’s trying to hold things together with the tips of her fingernails, and she spends too many sleepless nights worrying the girls will be taken away from her if things get much worse.

She shakes her thoughts away.  Jaime’s watching her with a bright-eyed, expectant expression, and she thinks that whatever he buys, wherever he buys it, she’ll be able to re-use it somehow for the girls.

She sighs and nods and scowls at his triumphant grin.

*/*/*/*/*

_“Well,” Jaime says with relief, “that wasn’t so bad.”_

_Brienne shakes her head.  “You still have a crazy sister.”_

_“Hey, now!”  He grins and laughs.  “Besides, she’s not my sister!  Thank the gods,” he mutters, rifling through Southron Singer Jaime’s memories and grimacing at what he finds._

_Brienne groans.  “I really do need to remember which universe I’m in.”_

_“I think we’ll get used to it.  Eventually.”_

_Brienne nods, frowning thoughtfully.  “Have you noticed something strange?”_

_“Besides all these different memories in my head?”_

_She rolls her eyes.  “I’m serious.  Have you noticed that in both universes, we’ve picked up where we left off?”_

_Jaime frowns.  “Now that you mention it...”_

_“Are those universes only progressing when we connect with them?”_

_“I doubt that,” Jaime says slowly._

_“Observation determines outcome—”_

_Jaime raises his hands and stops her.  “We’ve only seen two universes out of five.  Let’s wait and see what the others show us before we start hypothesizing.  Mayhaps time simply moves differently in each universe.”_

_“So even though three weeks have passed here, no time at all has passed in those universes?”  Brienne’s voice is skeptical in the extreme._

_Jaime shrugs. “Possibly.”  He glances at the clock and stands.  “I’m going to go for a walk.  Do you want a coffee or something?”_

_“Oh.  Sure,” she says, distracted.  She’s already scratching on her notepad before he leaves the room._

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime returns with two coffees and settles beside her.  He lifts an eyebrow at the pages of equations and theorems._

_“Don’t solve the problems of the universes without me,” he says with a teasing grin.  “I want a piece of that Samwell Prize, you know.”_

_“I’ll be sure to thank you in my acceptance speech,” Brienne says, still writing furiously._

_“I’d appreciate that,” he says with a laugh, “especially since it’s been half an hour.”_

_She looks up at that, blinking owlishly at the clock.  “Oh,” she says._

_“Have a sip of coffee first,” Jaime says._

_She gives him a grateful smile, sips her coffee then sets it aside.  She gives him an expectant look, eyebrows raised.  He sips his own coffee, then sets it down, and nods._

_She hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne pauses outside the cell door and says a short prayer to the Mother, begging for strength.

Three men yesterday, she thinks, despairing, another three already today.  For the first time in her years at the prison, there are only four men awaiting execution.  Three of those will be hanged tomorrow, and the day after, it will be the perplexing man who awaits her on the other side of this door, and then there will be no men left in these black cells.

She would be grateful for the respite except she knows it won’t last long.  She’s been told Judge Randyll Tarly has suspended court on orders from the King; she’s mildly surprised the Hanging Judge has bothered to obey for even a day.

But that is not her concern.  Her concern now is the man on the other side of the door and what comfort she can provide in his last two days of life.

*/*/*/*/*

“Do you believe in _any_ god, Mr. Lannister?”

His smile is like a knife.

“I believe in many gods, septa, and none.  I have seen too much, done too much to believe there is any god who watches over us, guiding our actions, protecting us from harm.  If that were true, would I be in this prison cell?”

“You murdered a man, Mr. Lannister.  If you wish to save your immortal soul, you need to admit your guilt and beg forgiveness from whichever god you follow.”

“Which would you like me to claim, septa?  The Faith of the Seven?  Or mayhaps you would prefer I tell you I follow the Many-Faced God; would that be better?  I don’t think the Many-Faced God will judge me quite as harshly as the Hanging Judge.  Or mayhaps I should claim allegiance to the Drowned God, if that river out there was salt water rather than fresh, and pray that I, too, will rise from the dead, harder and stronger.  Or mayhaps I should convert to Snowianity, ask you to baptize me in that very same river, if only so I can go to the gallows with the filth of this cell washed from my skin.”

Brienne doesn’t allow herself to react to his words.  She’s heard worse in her years here, supporting the condemned men in their days or hours before they are led to the gallows.

She realizes Mr. Lannister is watching her with brightly curious green eyes.

“You’ve heard worse?” he asks and she blinks.  He grins.  “Never play poker, septa, you’ll lose your septa’s gown in two hands.”  His grin fades.  “No more prayers.  No more talk of gods and their non-existent mercy.  _Talk_ to me instead.  You’ve heard worse?”

He wants to talk, she thinks, feeling heavy from the weight of the six men who have already died this week.  She can do that, and mayhaps in the talking, guide him to a salvation that works for him.

“Yes, Mr. Lannister, I’ve heard worse.”

“And experienced worse?”  She frowns and he nods his head.  “Your nose.  I assume you broke it here?”

She flushes as her hand flies to cover her crooked nose from his gaze.  “It wasn’t the first time,” she says grudgingly.

He raises an eyebrow.  “Tell me more,” he purrs.

She fights the urge to bolt from the cell, to leave the wretched man to burn in the seven hells, but she is no coward.  She’s made a vow to provide him succor and to escort him to the gallows when the time comes, and she needs must guide him towards divine forgiveness as much as his sorry life and soul allows.

“If I share the story, will you answer me honestly about which god you follow?”

He considers her thoughtfully then shrugs, his chains clanking.  “Yes, septa, I will answer you honestly.  But I want all the stories of how you’ve come by such a lovely shape to your nose.”

She grits her teeth then reminds herself she’s a woman of the Seven and the judgement of men has no meaning to her, and she forces herself to relax.

“The stories are not very interesting,” she says, “but I’ll tell them.”  She shifts in her chair, trying to get more comfortable.  “My brother Galladon broke my nose when we were children.  We were wrestling and forgot that we were only playing.  We both got angry, and he broke my nose with a too-hard blow.”

Mr. Lannister smiles a little.  “And what did you break of his?”

She lowers her gaze to the cell floor.  “I broke one of his fingers...we were both very angry.”

“Did you ever wrestle with him again?”

“Oh, yes,” she says with a fond smile.  “He is the only boy of four, and I am almost as tall and broad as he is and therefore strong enough to properly battle him.  Our sisters take after our mother—pretty and delicate, their strength hidden inside.”

“Unlike you?  Where your strength is all on the outside for the world to see?”

Brienne gives him a calm look.  “The gods create us as we are for a reason,” she says.  “I suppose one of my reasons is so my brother would not grow so over-confident, he would forever act like an arse.”

That causes the grimy-yet-gorgeous man to gape then bark a laugh.  “Ah, septa!  You’re human after all!”

Her smile is slight.

“How many times has your nose been broken?” he asks.

“Three,” she says.

“Ah.  So, the second time?”

“Here, in this prison,” she says.  “The first man I escorted to the gallows did not wish to go.  He thought he could take me as a hostage.”

Mr. Lannister raises an eyebrow.  “You?  He must have been a giant!”

“He was—and brutal.  I have no doubt my end would have been...unpleasant.”

“The other guards rescued you?”

“I rescued myself,” Brienne says with a faint smile.  “Keeping a headstrong brother in line has led to some...interesting tricks when you’re being attacked.  He broke my nose, but I broke his leg.  He was hanged the next day.”

There’s a newfound respect in Mr. Lannister’s eyes.  “And the third time?”

She touches her nose, then brushes her fingers across the twisted flesh of her cheek.  “Another prisoner, one who was more animal than man.  I was ill, weak with fever and yet determined to do my duty.  I pitied him and did not wish him to face the walk to the gallows alone.”  She shudders.  “It was...horrific.”

His eyes are narrowed.  “Your cheek.  His teeth?”

She nods.  “His last meal was my flesh.”  She shudders.  “A young guard, Gendry Waters, killed him.  Shot him in the head while he had me on the ground and—” She stops abruptly, shaking the memories from her head.

They sit in silence for a long moment, then Mr. Lannister says, “I follow no god.”

She blinks and frowns.

“I have never followed any god.  I have never been baptized into a faith, nor received any god’s blessing.”  His smile is bleak.  “You’ll have to pray more fervently than you’ve ever prayed before, septa, if you hope to gain mercy for my soul.”

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne’s eyes are filled with tears as she looks at Jaime._

_“I don’t think I can go back to that universe,” she says._

_Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “Why not?”_

_She flushes.  “I don’t want to see Prisoner Jaime hang.”_

_Jaime’s hand trembles as he takes a sip of coffee.  “I don’t want to see Prisoner Jaime hang either,” he says, “especially since I’m afraid to know what would happen if my counterpart dies while we’re connected.”_

_Brienne’s eyes widen.  “Oh, gods,” she breathes, “I hadn’t thought of that.”_

_“I don’t think I would physically die, since I doubt we can physically affect our counterparts—”_

_“But what if we can affect their minds?”_

_He pauses and blinks.  “What?”_

_“When I was connected to Mad Jon Brienne, when she saw her Jaime for the first time, she felt a flash of recognition.  What if that’s because I was there with her?”_

_Jaime leans back in his chair, cradling his coffee.  “Are you suggesting we should try to influence our counterparts?  See if we can plant some thoughts in their minds?”_

_Brienne frowns.  “I...no.  That’s unethical.”_

_“Well, I’m not sure what we’re doing right now is ethical, either.”_

_She restlessly drums her fingers on the desk top.  “But we have to do our best to not influence them.”_

_“I agree,” Jaime says, “which is why I’m not going to tell you what’s going through Prisoner Jaime’s mind right now.”_

_She blinks, then her eyes narrow.  “What’s he planning?” she asks ominously._

_Jaime laughs.  “Don’t try to influence Septa Brienne!”_

_“I won’t...but what’s he planning?”_

_He grins and takes another sip of coffee._

*/*/*/*/*

_They leave to stretch their legs, to use the bathrooms, to just get out of the control room for a few minutes._

_“Where now?” Jaime asks as they return and settle into their chairs._

_“Megastar Jaime?” Brienne says.  She bites her lip.  “The longer we can avoid the Mad Jon universe, the better.”_

_Jaime considers her thoughtfully.  “Okay,” he says, his voice gentle.  “Ready?”_

_She nods, and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne glares at Nymeria Sand, who’s looking the worse for wear after being rousted from where she was sleeping between two incredibly attractive men Brienne is sure have more plastic in their faces than a Sansa doll.  No way they could look that perfect without help.

“I was working,” Nymeria groans out, scrubbing her hands over her face.

“Uh-huh.  Not sure what kind of business you think I’m running here—”

“Look, I was doing what you asked.  I threw a party, got all the people there we needed to see together and let nature take its course.  It just...got a little out of hand.”

“Did you at least get the pictures we needed?”

“I set up cameras everywhere, Brienne.  I’m sure we got something.”

Brienne pinches the bridge of her nose.  “You know, normally we just follow the subjects around until we catch them with their pants down for the money shot.  We don’t usually invite them to an orgy!”

Nymeria shrugs.  “Look, we’ve been following them around for weeks and nothing.  They knew something was up—and I’m not making any puns there!  If they finally dropped their pants here, then we have the money shot we’ve been waiting for.  If they didn’t, well...”  Nymeria’s grin is wickedly satisfied.  “It was still a really great time.”

Brienne fights the urge to scream and then burst into tears.  “And this is why we never get cases other than these slimy, dirty pictures ones!” she says instead, and winces at the whine in her voice.

Nymeria shrugs.  “Hey, I can’t help it if you don’t want to have any fun with these things.  I mean, let’s face it, Brienne: you’re not that great a detective.  These are the only kinds of cases you’re ever going to get, so you may as well get some fun out of it.”

Brienne grinds her teeth wanting nothing more than to tell Nymeria she’s fired but she can’t.  As much as she hates to admit it, she’s is right:  she’s still trying to get her detective agency off the ground and these are the only cases she can get right now…but she still can’t stomach following people around waiting to catch them with their pants down...or their skirts up.

“But orgies, Nym,” Brienne groans, “and just when the owner of house comes home?”

Nymeria perks up.  “Jaime Lannister’s here?”

Brienne groans and covers her eyes.  “Can you at least let him wake up before you fuck him?”

*/*/*/*/*

That evening, Brienne watches Jaime deflect Nymeria’s determined flirting with practiced ease and reluctantly admits she’s impressed.  Then again, he is _Jaime Lannister_ ; he probably deflects the advances of twenty people a day. 

She takes another look at him, and remembers how he looked in nothing but a towel.

Make that thirty a day.

She’s at least grateful that Nymeria is keeping with their cover story of being caterers—which she actually _is_ , at least until her detective agency gets off the ground, but she doesn’t know if both her businesses will do better or worse once stories of the orgy get around.

She realizes Jaime has asked her something.

“I’m sorry,” she says, flushing, “I was distracted.  What did you say?”

“I said, you do have another place to live, right?” Jaime says.

“Of course,” Brienne snaps a little too quickly and Jaime’ eyes narrow.

“You’re a bad liar,” he says and sighs, rubbing his temple.  “Look, like I said before, I’m really not that bad of a guy once you get to know me, and I know what it’s like to be in desperate straits.  And Nan really was a lifesaver earlier today.  This house is huge, and it’s not like I have twenty-seven kids who need beds.  I mean, I _might_ have twenty-seven kids, but none of them have shown up yet demanding a paternity test.  So you guys can stay until you find a place to live.”

Brienne’s eyes narrow.  “Why?” she growls then glances at her business partner and tightens her lips.  “Oh, gods, I was only out of the room for ten minutes!  Don’t tell me you—”

Nymeria glares back.  “I put out for the sheer joy of it, Brienne, not because I’m trying to get something in return.”  She gives Jaime a considering look.  “Other than pleasure, of course,” she purrs.

He raises an eyebrow.  “Do I need to lock my door?” he asks and Nymeria shrugs.

“I don’t go where I’m not wanted,” she says.

“You’re living in my house right now without permission,” Jaime says drily.  “I’d say your statement is not exactly accurate.”

“Thank you,” Brienne says quickly, grabbing Nymeria’s arm and dragging her towards the door.  “We appreciate the kindness and we’ll start looking for a place to live right away.”

She hears him chuckle as she slams the living room door behind them.

*/*/*/*/*

“It was just getting interesting!” Nym protests as Brienne drags her back to the rooms they were using.

“For the gods’ sake, Nymeria!  We’re lucky he didn’t call the cops on us!  Just...behave yourself until we find another place to live!”

“I’m not bunking with you anymore, Brienne.  You always put a damper on the fun.”

“I wasn’t inviting you to live with me, Nymeria!  Once has been far, far, _far_ more than enough!”

Nym sniffs.  “Lucky thing I love you.”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “Have you managed to recover all the cameras?”

“Work, work, work,” Nym says, “and yes.  They’re in your room.”

Brienne grimaces.  “Thanks,” she mutters.  “I’ll need to take a shower after I look through the footage.”

“Don’t erase anything,” Nym says as Brienne walks to the door.  “If nothing else, we might have some blackmail material on there.  There were some pretty big names at the party last night; you _really_ should have been here.”

“Gods,” Brienne mutters and prays for strength.

*/*/*/*/*

The next morning, Jaime is thankfully feeling more human although he’s still just as fucked as he was before he went on his bender.  Addam and Tyrion are on their way over with more bad news, he’s sure, but the police get there first.

He sighs as the two men walk into his living room and give him the cold, gimlet glare of seasoned cops not easily star-struck.

“Is this about the penthouse suite?” Jaime says.  “I thought the hotel agreed not to press charges.”  It was the one piece of good news Tyrion had texted him last night.

The cops raise their eyebrows and exchange a glance.  “No, Mr. Lannister,” the older one says.  His voice is a deep, soothing baritone and Jaime idly wonders if the man does narrations for wildlife documentaries in his spare time. “This is about Pia Peckledon.  Better known as Jazz.”

Jaime frowns then shrugs.  “The name’s not ringing any bells,” he says slowly.  “What’s she look like?”

“It’s odd you don’t remember her, Mr. Lannister, considering you were holed up with her for almost four days in that penthouse suite you trashed.”

Realization dawns.  “Is she about twenty—twenty-five years old?  Big brown eyes, long blonde hair?  Stacked like a brick shithouse?”  The cops stare impassively.  “Her name is _Jazz_?  Huh.  You’d think I would have remembered that.”  A slight chill goes down his spine as the two police officers continue to watch him in silence.  “Oh, gods,” he says, “she _is_ at least twenty, right?  _Please_ tell me she’s legal!”  Gods, how much time was he looking at?

“Her age is the least of your worries,” says the younger of the two, tall with cold hazel eyes.  “We’re homicide detectives.  Pia Peckledon was found dead yesterday afternoon.”

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime meets Brienne’s accusing eyes._

_“What?” he says._

_“You never told me what kind of party Megastar Jaime walked into!”_

_He smirks.  “Are your ladylike sensibilities offended, Junior?”_

_She blushes and covers her face with her hands.  “Gods,” she groans.  “This is getting worse and worse all the time.”_

_“You think it’s bad for you—I’ve just become a suspect in a murder case!”_

_She glares at him over her fingertips.  “See what I mean?”_

_He laughs.  “Yeah, I see what you mean.  Still...Nymeria Sand seems like a fun time.”_

_She groans and covers her face again._

*/*/*/*/*

_They spend the next thirty minutes writing their notes and studiously avoiding each other’s eyes._

_Finally, Jaime puts his pen down and pushes his notepad away and sighs.  “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to need a drink when we’re finished here.”_

_“You and me both,” Brienne mutters, putting her own pen down.  She puts her hand on the keyboard and hesitates._

_“We don’t have to do this,” Jaime says, putting his hand over hers.  “If you don’t want to reconnect to this universe, we can just let this one go.”_

_She swallows heavily.  “No,” she says.  “I don’t want to skew the data.”  She gives him a tense smile.  “Or go looking for another universe that might end up being even worse than this one.”_

_His grip tightens on her fingers.  “Are you sure?  I can do this alone, too.  You can go back to Castle Black—”_

_She furiously shakes her head.  “No.  I’m fine.”  She takes a deep breath.  “It’s not really me.  I just have to remember that.”_

_He peers intently into her eyes then nods.  “All right.”_

_Brienne gives him a slight smile, and moves her hand so she can squeeze his fingers in gratitude, and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne stares at Jaime, eyes wide even as blood continues streaming from her broken nose.

“You’re _that_ Jaime Lannister?” she says faintly, then finally puts her hand to her face to staunch the bleeding.

His smile is thin.  “I used to be,” he says.  “Gods only knows what I am now.”  He scowls.  “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for the books,” she says, then hawks and spits out a mouthful of blood.

Jaime glances behind her to what used to be the Rookery of the Red Keep.  “Books?”

“Specifically the Grand Maester’s books.”  Her voice is nasal and thick, her face swelling and bruising from the beating she endured at the hands of the three men now lying dead at her feet.  “Especially any books that have to do with building things.”

Jaime stares in disbelief.  “Building things?  You think you can rebuild anything in this godsforsaken world with any chance of success?”

She spits again.  The bleeding is finally slowing.  “What are our choices?” she asks.  She turns to look at the blocked path of the Rookery then turns to look at him through bruised and swollen eyes.  “Are you going to help or not?”

*/*/*/*/*

The woman is mad, Jaime thinks as he helps her clear a path into the Rookery then follows her inside.  Mad, but determined.  He decides it’s safer to help her than to try and stand in her way.

Besides...it’s not like he has anything else to do.

*/*/*/*/*

Hyle Hunt and his three friends are about as trustworthy as he is, and Jaime doesn’t know what Brienne—he’d managed to pry her name out of her while they were rifling through the Grand Maester’s library—is thinking when she tells him later that she’s taking the men back to her compound in the forest on the outskirts of the city.

He decides that he’ll leave her to her fate in the morning.  He saved her from rape once; if she’s stupid enough to go anywhere with these men, well...he’s amazed she’s survived this long if this is an example of her brilliant decisions.

He watches her barricade herself into a small nook, gun at hand, then spreads his bedroll in front of it.  He wraps himself into his threadbare blanket and turns his back to his companions, his own gun at the ready, and listens to the four men speaking in low voices.

“She says she’s the only adult,” he hears one say.  “We don’t need to be saddled with a bunch of fucking children!”

“Yeah, but she said there are about twenty of them.  There _have_ to be girls there—and kids grow up.”

Kids?  Jaime thinks.  Twenty of them?  Gods, the woman is as stupid as she is ugly.  He makes a note to leave before sunup and relaxes into a light doze that isn’t quite sleep.

*/*/*/*/*

They leave the city the next day, Hunt and his friends pulling sleds filled with whatever they were able to scavenge, including the books Jaime helped Brienne carry out of the Red Keep.  They lead the way, Brienne and Jaime bringing up the rear, with Brienne barking out directions when necessary.

Jaime glances at her and raises an eyebrow.

“Do you really think I’d turn my back on this lot?” she mutters and for the first time since the Event, Jaime laughs.

*/*/*/*/*

The compound is in a surprisingly well-hidden considering it’s in a large clearing and includes a number of shacks and a large garden plot.  But it’s virtually impossible to see while tramping through the thick forest not far from King’s Landing, and since there hasn’t been any air traffic since the Event, it’s more secure than Jaime had dared hope.

They had also been met about half a mile from the entrance to the compound by four teenagers:  Robb and Jon, Dany and Margaery, who held guns on them until Brienne convinced them she was not a prisoner and was indeed leading five grown men to their safe haven.

He turns round, inspecting the small settlement while Jon lets out a piercing whistle.  He hears the rustling as children cautiously creep out of hiding and make their way towards them. He turns back to see the children, both boys and girls ranging in age from teenagers to almost-toddlers, some of whom are obviously siblings and—

His heart stutters to a halt as he stares at the three golden-haired children who are staring at him with puzzled frowns.

“Gods,” he breathes. “Joff?  Myrcella?  Tommen?”

“Dad?” Myrcella says.  “Dad!”

And then he’s on his knees in front of them, pulling them against him, holding them as tight as he can, unable to believe they’re in his arms.

And for the first time since the Event, Jaime Lannister cries.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime leaves his children sleeping peacefully in their shack and goes to find Brienne.  She’s sitting by a small campfire, alone.  Hyle and the others had been given their own shack, and the older children were given the task of watching them.

“You shouldn’t have brought them here,” he murmurs as he settles himself on the other side of the fire.

“How many survivors have you found, Jaime?  We’re not stupid.  We’re cautious; we’ve been betrayed before and we’ve learned from it.”  She sighs.  “I would prefer to have left them to rot in King’s Landing, but there are not so many people left in Westeros that we can abandon each other.”

“Is that how you ended up here?  One grown woman and twenty children, hiding in the forest?”

She shifts a little beneath his cold gaze but she doesn’t look away.  “What choices do we have if we want to survive?”  She gives a small shake of her head.  “Anyway, I fancy Robb, Margaery, Jon, Dany and Jeyne Westerling would not appreciate still being called children, especially after the last two years.”

“Mayhaps not,” he says.  He glances round the clearing.  “You’ve done better than I would have expected,” he grudgingly admits, “but you’re still vulnerable.”

“Look at the cities,” she says flatly.  “They ended up still vulnerable, too.”

His grim mouth relaxes almost into a smile.  “True,” he concedes.  “And now you have five grown men as well, some of whom have not seen a woman or girl in two years.”

Her gaze doesn’t waver.  “Aye,” she says, “and I’ll geld the first man who lays a hand on any of the children.”

“But not on you?”

Her smile is cold.  “If I do not consent to it, then yes.”

“Ah,” he breathes and his smile is cruel.  “Hoping you might have a chance with one of them, now that you’re one of the few adult women left in Westeros?”

She surges to her feet, her face burning as bright as the fire.  “Fuck you,” she snarls.  “You should just be grateful we haven’t murdered you for your weapons.”

His soft chuckle follows her as she stomps her way to her shack.

*/*/*/*/*

He doesn’t know why he’s needling her so much, except she’s going to die, Jaime thinks grimly after Brienne disappears into her shack. 

He walks away from the fire to pace the perimeter of the clearing.  She’s going to die, and she’s going to take all these children with her.  She’s too trusting, and that’s fatal in this new Westeros.  Oh, Before the Event, Hyle Hunt and his cronies were probably decent enough people, but that was more than two years ago.  Two years of struggling to survive after the Event, two years of coming to terms with the fact that all the people you love are gone and you’re alone.

He stops in his tracks and closes his eyes, struggling to breathe beneath the weight of grief that never seems to ease.

His father and mother.  Tyrion.

_Cersei._

Sweet Cersei, vulnerable and fragile.  Life with her had never been easy, but he had loved her anyway.  His double cousin, they grew up as close as siblings and he had always known what she was like.  They never should have fallen in love; never should have married; never should have had children, but it wasn’t until after Tommen was born that he realized just how mentally ill and fragile she truly was.  He’s sure she never fully understood what she’d tried to do to the children.

But gods—a part of him had still loved her, even after their divorce.  And while she was on her meds, she was...fine.  Not his excitingly volatile Cersei, no, but a _safer_ Cersei—safer for her and him and their children.

And then the Event took her away from him, and—he’d thought—took away their children, too.

He’d been in Meereen when the Event happened, fighting in a conflict caused by reasons he can’t even remember.  The children had been in King’s Landing with his parents, going to private school, while Cersei...well, Cersei had once again been in Maegor’s Sanitarium after going off her meds while he was deployed.  Tyrion had been in the Summer Isles, and Jaime has always hoped he’d been in some open-air whorehouse, worshipping the god of tits and wine, when the Event happened.

He prays they all died quickly, especially Cersei.  The thought of her wandering this devastated world, fragile and beautiful...

He shudders away from the thought.

It took him two years, but he finally made his way from Meereen to King’s Landing.  Not because he had any hope of finding anyone alive, let alone his family, but because he had nowhere else to go.  Past sins cast a long shadow, even after the end of the world.

Jaime had made his way back to King’s Landing with some vague idea of finding his father’s house and mayhaps killing himself there, on its broken foundation.  But in the end, he couldn’t do it.  Mayhaps a part of him felt like he didn’t deserve to be given such a quick end when he didn’t know how Cersei died, or his children, or the rest of his family.

Yet here he is:  in a hidden settlement controlled by a lumbering, great wench, a hidden settlement filled with children...including his own.

He sighs as he returns to the shacks and the fire.

He doesn’t know what he’s done to be so lucky as to be reunited with his children, but he’s here now, with them, and wherever they are, he’ll be there, too.

And _somebody_ has to help that far-too-trusting woman protect all these children against those vipers she’s just let in the door.

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime blinks at Brienne and realizes he’s still gripping her hand._

_“Gods,” he groans._

_She’s pale, her freckles standing out on her pale face.  “I told you it was brutal,” she says._

_He shakes his head and leans back in his chair.  “Gods,” he says again and runs a hand through his hair.  “Let’s start shutting down the generators and the EM barrier,” he says, his voice grim.  “I’ve had more than enough for one night.”_

_Brienne only nods._

*/*/*/*/*


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N1:** Well, this came together faster than I expected. :)
> 
> Edited to try and fix the link in the A/N at the end of the chapter. This one and the previous one both worked for me, but hopefully this one will work for everyone. :)

**Nine**

They separate as soon as they arrive at the hotel with a promise to meet at ten for their workout.

Brienne is relieved to get behind the closed door of her room and does something she seldom does:  she raids the mini-fridge, downing the two far-too-tiny bottles of Arbor Gold she finds inside.  She contemplates the other tiny bottles then reluctantly decides she’s had enough.  Knowing Jaime, she’s going to need all her wits about her when they meet again in the morning.

The wine will help her sleep, she tells herself as she finishes getting ready for bed.  At least that’s something, she thinks, and turns off the light.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime scorns what the hotel has stocked for him, instead opening the bottle of Northern whiskey he took from the plane.  His father stocks nothing but the best, after all, and Jaime had suspected he was going to need something strong before this trip to the Wall was over.

He just hadn’t expected to need it on the first night.

He sighs as he drinks and hopes it’s going to help him sleep.  That last universe... _gods_...he shudders and gulps the last of the whiskey.  He pours himself another one, then readies himself for bed.

He turns on the television and stares at it without seeing anything on the screen.

Mayhaps they should throw out all these damn universes so they can keep looking for other ones, mayhaps ones that are less... _disturbing_.

He finishes his drink and turns off the light.

He’ll suggest it to Brienne in the morning.

*/*/*/*/*

They don’t start talking about work until after they’ve worked out, showered, and met again in Jaime’s suite for brunch.

“We have a choice, Junior,” Jaime says, munching on his last piece of toast.  “We can keep going with these universes, or see if we can connect with others.”

Brienne immediately shakes her head.  “I don’t think I can handle any more streams of memories.”

“Well, we could take a break for a few months; the memories may fade over time.  It might take us that long before we can get time on the Wall again anyway.”

She sets her mouth in mulish lines and Jaime sighs.

“Don’t look at me like that, Junior!  If you can handle these universes, I can handle them, too.  I just wanted to make the offer.”

She gives him a slightly triumphant look.  “I can handle these universes,” she says with obviously false bravado.

He raises an eyebrow and she grimaces.

“I’d rather stick with the universes we already know,” she mutters, “at least for now.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” he says as he finishes putting jam on his toast.

“So, how _do_ you want to approach the rest of our time here?” Brienne says, munching on a piece of bacon.

Jaime sighs.  “Well, I think we need to spend more time connected to each universe.”

Brienne frowns.  “What are you hoping to discover?”

“I don’t think they only exist because we’re observing them; I think we can only process a certain amount of information each time we connect with them, and for some reason—probably cognitive—we can’t...skip through time.”

She frowns.  “Why not?”

“I don’t know.  My theory is that if we could skip through time, it would cause a cognitive dissonance that might be psychologically or emotionally damaging to us.”

Brienne raises an eyebrow.  “Biological and psychological limitations rather than limitations of time and physics?”

“Exactly.  I think that if we can repeatedly _hold_ our connection with each universe, we’ll see that time does advance in each universe, and likely at different rates.”  He takes another bite of toast and chews with a thoughtful expression.  “Or maybe I’m full of shit,” he says with a shrug.

Brienne shakes her head.  “I’m not sure I want to spend much time in some of those universes.”

Jaime grimaces.  “To tell the truth—neither do I.  But unless we’re willing to look for different universes, these are the only ones we have at the moment.”  He raises an eyebrow.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Brienne says.

Jaime shrugs.  “Then we don’t have any choice,” he says and pops the last bite of toast into his mouth.

“It’s just...we could die, Jaime.”

Jaime’s eyes are serious as he looks at her.  “Our counterparts could die,” he says softly.  “I refuse to believe that if that happens, it means we will, too.”

“But Jaime...if we’re only finding those universes where we’re together because we’re together here...and if in one of those universes, one of us dies...”

He shakes his head.  “We’re not going to die, Brienne,” he says.  “I mean, we are, but not any time soon.”

“That universe where I’m a septa—”

“We can visit that one first, if it makes you feel better,” Jaime says.  “If nothing else, we’ll find out soon enough what happens if our counterpart dies while we’re connected with them.”

Brienne winces.  “You should stay here, then, in Castle Black.  I can go alone and let you know what happens.”

Jaime shakes his head.  “And have you call me a coward in the small part of the Samwell Prize acceptance speech I’m going to let you read?  Never!”

Her lips twitch towards a smile but then her eyes narrow.  “What is Prisoner Jaime planning?”

He shakes his head and smirks.  “We’ve already agreed we’re not going to try and influence our counterparts.”

“Well, then it doesn’t hurt to tell me!”

“I don’t want you to even unconsciously influence Septa Brienne!” Jaime laughs.  “We’ll just have to connect with that universe first and see what happens.”

Brienne scowls. “Fine,” she mutters.

Jaime gives her a beatific smile and sips his coffee.

*/*/*/*/*

_The generators are almost at full power when they arrive at the Wall, and they’re ready to begin their experiments within an hour of everyone else leaving the facility._

_They settle in their chairs in the control room and Brienne readies the computers before she turns to Jaime._

_“Are you sure you don’t want to go to Castle Black?” she says, worried._

_He gives her a smile, his green eyes sparkling.  “I’m sure,” he says and for a moment, she’s struck by how handsome he is.  She allows herself a moment to envy Taena then shakes the moment away._

_“Well,” she says, “we’ll have half an hour between pulses, so if you change your mind...”_

_He rolls his eyes.  “Start the experiment, Junior, and trust me.”_

_She gives him a small grin as she hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne digs into Mr. Lannister’s claim that he had never followed any god.

“You must have followed the Old Gods at least,” she finally says uncertainly.

“No, my grandparents were followers of the Faith,” he says blithely.  “My parents were made of more skeptical stuff.”

She is speechless.  In her three years at this prison, she has never met another man who claimed to follow no god at all.  Even the half-feral creature who had bitten her face had claimed to follow the Faith, as had the giant who had only broken her nose.

She stares silently at the man.

He shifts uncomfortably, the noise of his shackles and chains loud in the quiet of the cell.

“Will you leave me now to face my fate alone, septa?” he drawls.

“I…”  she chews her lip, uncertain what to say.

He watches her, eyes wide and calm and clear.

“Yet you are not afraid,” she says.

“I have never feared death, septa.  I do not look forward to it; I do not desire it...but I do not fear it.”  His mouth quirks into a smile that’s almost hidden by his shaggy beard.  “You might say it has been my friend as much as it has been my enemy.  But if, in the next two days, you can find me a god to worship where death is not a punishment but a blessing, I’ll consider converting.”  His smile turns teasing.  “But only if you ask me nicely.  Brienne.”

To her surprise, she flushes at the way he says her name then sternly reminds herself that she’s a septa, and Jaime Lannister is not the first condemned man to attempt to flirt with her in hopes that she will help him to escape.  Desperate times, she tells herself grimly, and many of the men she’s counselled have been very desperate indeed.

But Jaime Lannister does not seem desperate, either.

“I don’t know how to counsel you,” she finally says.

His expression turns rueful.  “No more prayers,” he says.  “No more nattering on about gods and forgiveness—for now.  I won’t ask you to go against your training, septa.  But I would ask you to simply _talk_ to me.”  He shifts again, his shackles clanking.

She watches him carefully, and finds herself wondering what, exactly, he’s truly thinking.

“I have three other men who hang in the morning,” she says slowly.

“Will you go and spend their last nights with them, praying for their souls?” he asks, and he sounds honestly curious.

She thinks of those men:  a rapist who wouldn’t be in any prison if he hadn’t murdered the girl in front of witnesses; a monster of a man who murdered numerous people after chasing them down with his dogs; a young man from the Vale who threw the wrong person out the Moon Door—or so he claims.  That young man is the only one for whom she feels true pity.  There is something odd in his thinking and she doesn’t believe he fully understands the fate that awaits him in the morning.  Judge Randyll Tarly simply dismissed her earlier today when she tried to bring it to his attention, when she reminded him of the young King’s new decrees.

She shakes her head.  “None of them wish to have me intone prayers over them tonight,” she says.

“And so you are here, with me.”

“If you wish me to leave—”

“ _No!_ ”

She blinks at the almost desperate note in his voice.  She peers more closely at him, wishing his features weren’t so obscured by his long hair and the dim light in the cell.

“No,” he says, more calmly.  “The silence of this cell is worse, I think, than knowing the gallows await me.”  He glances at her then away.  “I’ll even listen to your prayers, septa, if you will also speak to me of other things.”

“I...there is not much for me to speak on.”

He smiles.  “You have a headstrong brother and two sisters, who, I have no doubt are as headstrong as their siblings.  That’s a start.”

She hesitates, and wonders at the part of her that is practically screaming at her to leave him—now—before it’s too late.  To leave him to stew in his own guilt and not return until it’s time to escort him to the gallows.  Because if she stays...if she stays...

Things will be changed forever if she stays.

Mr. Lannister cocks his head to the side as he watches her, his eyes questioning.  “Brienne?”

She swallows, her throat clicking, and says, “I grew up on an island.  Its ocean waters are so blue, it’s known as the Sapphire Isle, although it’s land is so green, it should be called the Emerald Isle instead.”

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne blinks and looks at Jaime.  Jaime’s frowning and watching her with a puzzled scowl._

_“What?” she says, defensive._

_“Are you trying to influence Septa Brienne?” he says, accusing._

_Her eyes widen.  “Not consciously,” she says.  “Are you trying to influence Prisoner Jaime?”_

_“Definitely not,” he snaps then stares intently at her, his scowl deepening._

_She frowns.  “What’s wrong?”_

_He shakes his head.  “I...I’m not sure,” he says slowly then shakes his head again.  “Nothing.”  He stands.  “I’m going to stretch my legs.  You want anything?”_

_“Coffee,” she says, still confused by the expression on his face.  He nods and she frowns as he leaves the room as if his heels are on fire._

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime returns in a few minutes with cups of coffee for both of them.  Brienne glances up with a brief smile of thanks before she returns to making her notes._

_He leans back in his chair, sipping his own coffee.  He should be making his own notes, he knows, but he’s content to just sit and watch Brienne for now._

_He frowns._

_Prisoner Jaime is right, he thinks, irritated.  Brienne does have astonishingly beautiful, kind eyes, and in the half-light of the cell, she has a presence and a beauty that takes his breath away._

_ Prisoner Jaime’s _ _breath away, he hastily reminds himself._

_Brienne glances at him then at the clock.  “Almost time,” she says, and puts her pen down._

_He nods, and feels like shit at how tentatively she smiles at him._

_He straightens in his chair.  “I’m sorry, Brienne.  I’m just...”  He sighs.  “I’m just finding it tough to shake Prisoner Jaime’s thoughts out of my head.”_

_Brienne frowns.  “Do you want to go back to Castle Black?”_

_“No, no, I’m fine now.”  He smiles his most charming smile.  “Really.”_

_Her frown doesn’t ease.  “Maybe you should just tell me what Prisoner Jaime is planning...”_

_He laughs.  “Nice try, Brienne.”_

_She shrugs.  “Had to try,” she says, and grins as she hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

“Did you always want to be a septa?”

Jaime’s voice is thick with sleep, and Brienne starts a little.  He had been silent for so long, she thought he had escaped into that sweet oblivion.  She’s been dozing a little herself, truth be told.

“I...”

“No lying, Brienne,” he says, and now there’s a thread of amusement in his voice.  “You can share your secrets.  Who am I going to tell?”

Who is he going to tell, indeed, she thinks sadly, and not for the first time, wishes there was some option other than death for the men in this prison.  Not that Judge Tarly would agree.  She’s tried over the years to persuade the Hanging Judge to be more merciful; she suspects he would hang her, too, if he could think of a reason for it.  As it is, he is only waiting for an excuse to force her out of her position here.  Sometimes she wonders if she’s hoping to give him one.

“Brienne?” Jaime prompts, and she starts a little.  It feels very late, and she wonders how long it is until sunrise.  She should leave, she tells herself.  She should leave and get some rest, so she can escort the next three men to the gallows.

“No,” she says softly, “no, I didn’t always want to be a septa.”

Jaime looks surprised.  “No?  Then how did you end up as one?”

“There was nothing else,” she says simply.  “I was betrothed three times, and after the last one was... _unsuccessful_ , my options were limited.  My parents would have loved to have me stay home, but I couldn’t simply live on their charity and then depend upon my brother’s good nature after our parents die.”

“You could have answered a wife wanted ad; gone to the northern frontier.”

“I couldn’t see myself marrying a man I’ve never seen.  I also doubt I would have been welcomed with open arms once they saw me.”

Jaime chuckles.  “I’ve heard the Wildlings want strong women, septa.  You might have been more welcomed than you know.”

“And therefore destined for hard work, and the childbed, and naught much else.”

“So you decided to be a septa?” His skepticism makes her wince.

“It was the only other option open to me,” she says and though she tries to keep her tone neutral, she can tell from the way he looks at her that he’s caught the sadness underneath.

“Do you truly believe, then? In the Faith of the Seven?”

“I do truly believe,” she says firmly.  “Being a septa may not have been my preferred path in life, but I have walked it gladly.”

“Is there forgiveness in the Faith for one such as me?”

“There is forgiveness in any religion for one such as you,” she says gently.

“But no forgiveness in the realm of men.”

She hesitates.  “If you mean will your sentence be changed from death, then the answer is no.”

He gives her a tired grin.  “Even though I had ever reason to do what I did?”

She gives him a sad look.  “There is not much room for mercy in our laws,” she says slowly.  “You murdered a man and no matter the reason, that is punishable by hanging.”

“And The Hanging Judge loves to hand out that sentence.”

“It is the law.”

“There’s the law, and then there’s mercy, and then there’s justice.  Tell me, septa, what sentence would you pass on the men in this prison if you were the judge?”

“I am not the judge,” she says.  “I pass no sentence, nor would I wish to do so.  I am here to soothe your soul so you can meet your fate with a clear conscience, and with some semblance of remorse and dignity.  I am here to assist you with saying whatever prayers you wish, to whichever god you worship.  I am not here to pass any further judgement on you—or on your sentence.”

His half-smile is thin and cutting.  “Do you truly believe prayers will save our souls?”

“It is the only thing we have,” she says quietly.  “You tell me you have never been inducted into any faith.  How is that possible?  What did your parents believe?”

“My parents believed in our family name and naught else,” he says and now his smile is a little more relaxed.  “If they believed in a religion, they never forced it upon me...or never told me of any.”

“I find that difficult to believe,” Brienne says uncertainly.

Jaime shrugs, shifting in his chains.  “I don’t care whether you believe me or not, septa.  It is the truth and your belief or lack of it doesn’t change that.  I have never given my faith to any god.”  He stops and scowls, staring off into the distance.

“You only have tonight and tomorrow before you must face the gallows,” Brienne says as gently as she can.  “Mayhaps you should reconsider that.”

Jaime’s smile is bittersweet.  “Mayhaps I should.”

*/*/*/*/*

“Where did you grow up, Mr. Lannister?”

Brienne doesn’t know how much time has passed.  Time has no meaning in the dim light of the cell, seated on this uncomfortable chair, but the sky is dark outside the single small window, high on the wall.

Mr. Lannister draws in a sharp breath, as if she’s startled him awake.

“I’m sorry,” she says.  “You were sleeping.”

“I seldom sleep here,” he says, “and my name is Jaime.  Brienne.”

“Mr. Lannister—”

He chuckles, slow and deep and husky.  “I grew up in the Westerlands,” he says.

“Lannister,” she murmurs, “Lannister.  Related to the Lannisters of Casterly Rock?”  She frowns.  “Related to the young King?”

He chuckles again.  “I’m from a distant arm of the family.  Do you think even the Hanging Judge would have condemned me to death if I were a close relative to the young King?  Or worse:  a close relative to Tyrion Lannister, the Hand of the King?”

“Probably,” she says drily.

His teeth flash in a grin.  “Well, he earns his nickname honestly then.  More than can said for some in this mad world.”  He pauses, glancing away, frowning a little.  “I am distantly related to the royal family as well.  Grew up in Lannisport, in the shadow of the Rock.  The waters there are so thick with ships, if they were ever blue, it was long before my lifetime.”

“How did you end up here?”  She means _here_ , in the most notorious prison in Westeros, in the depths of the Riverlands, perched on the edge of the Trident.  In this prison, even the young King’s mercy is accepted only if the Hanging Judge agrees with it…and he seldom agrees with it, no matter how many decrees the young King issues. 

She thinks of the young man from the Vale, who doesn’t fully understand what’s about to happen to him.  She thinks of the rapists Randyll Tarly allows to walk free.  At least the man with the dogs deserves to die, she thinks, and is shocked at the bitterness in her heart.

Mr. Lannister shifts again, his shackles clanking as he shrugs.  “I stopped a man from raping a girl.  Unfortunately, I killed him instead of only maiming him, and here I sit.”

Brienne frowns.  “The young King has issued an edict that anyone who kills another to stop a crime is to be spared the gallows.”

“The young King isn’t here, is he?”  Mr. Lannister’s smile is cold and bitter.  “What would the young King think of this prison, I wonder?”

“He thinks enough of it,” Brienne says.  “It still exists, doesn’t it?  And the Hanging Judge exists along with it.”

Jaime thoughtfully considers her.  “So it does,” he murmurs.  “How did _you_ end up here?”

She blinks and looks away.

“Septa Brienne?” he asks, teasing a little.  “Do you have a secret?”

She presses her lips into a tight line and glances towards the cell door.  They are never truly alone, but the guard outside tonight is Gendry Waters, the same man who had once saved her life when no other guard was willing to act.  She doesn’t exactly trust him—but it isn’t as though what brought her to this prison is anything that is secret.

“No,” she says, keeping her voice soft.  “Not a secret.”  She shifts on the uncomfortable chair and sighs.  “I was sent to King’s Landing, when I first put on the septa’s robes.  My father has some standing in the Kingdom, and it was decided that I should join the order that serves the High Septon himself.  I was young and idealistic, and fervent in my desire to serve both the Seven and the smallfolk of the Kingdom.  The young King had just ascended the Throne and had already begun initiating reforms, which I whole-heartedly supported.  I...forgot my place, and began to implement the King’s decrees without waiting for the High Septon’s acceptance of those decrees.” 

She remembers the High Septon’s anger, the… _reminder_ that her vows to obey the High Septon took precedence over the King’s orders.

“And so you were sent here, to teach you a lesson?”

“I had sworn an oath to obey him,” she says simply.

Mr. Lannister eyes are sharp and searching.  “What did he do to you, Brienne?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

Her smile is slight but even so, she knows she is unable to hide its sadness.  “I swore my oaths in front of the Seven,” is all she says.

Jaime’s smile is thin.  “And the High Septon is not one to forgive or forget broken vows, is he?”

She glances at the door again then calmly meets his gaze.  “No, Mr. Lannister.  He is not.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne falls into a half-doze, her head drooping, her chin resting on her chest.  The part of her that’s still semi-awake thinks she should go to her quarters and get what rest she can.  Two of the three men will not haunt her dreams tomorrow, but that boy from the Vale...

“Brienne?”

She jerks awake.

“Mr. Lannister.”

He chuckles, a little sleepily.  “I just had a dream that I was dragged through all seven hells while I screamed in agony.  I think I’m ready now to hear you tell me again about the gods.”

*/*/*/*/*

Mr. Lannister asks her questions about each religion and each god in turn, until finally, as the darkness outside the one tiny window high in the cell wall slowly lightens towards dawn, he asks her about the newest religion in Westeros:  Snowianity.

“Snowists worship Jon Snow,” she tells him, her voice thick with sleep.  “They believe he died and was resurrected to protect us against the threat of the Others.  When the Second War for the Dawn was over, and the last of the Others destroyed, the ice the Others had used to cover the world melted.  The oceans thawed and rivers ran free and swift once more.  It’s why followers of Jon Snow are baptized in fast flowing rivers.”

Jaime’s eyes are thoughtful.  “How do you beg forgiveness in such a religion?” he asks.

“The same as any other.  You pray to Jon Snow for his forgiveness and mercy.  He sacrificed himself for all of humanity in the Second War of the Dawn.  Followers believe that if you pray hard enough, Jon Snow will grant you his mercy, and you, too, will be resurrected.”

Jaime’s smile is thin.  “Depending on what your life is like, that may not be a blessing.”

Brienne’s smile is involuntary.  “That is a very good point.”  She considers him thoughtfully.  “You keep asking questions about Snowianity.  Is this the faith that is calling to you in your time of need?”

Jaime sighs.  “Yes, although I do not understand why.”

“Faith is not something you can always understand,” Brienne says gently.  “Faith is sometimes following where you’re drawn.”

He smiles, his eyes warm.  “And what if you’re drawn to a person as opposed to a belief?”

“That is what Snowianity is about,” she says.  “It is the only religion in the world that we know of that has an historical figure at its core.”

“Jon Snow was real?” Jaime asks, surprised.

“There is evidence there was a man named Jon Snow, yes, who was murdered at the Wall prior to its collapse.  The rest...well, no one really knows how much of the histories of the Second War for the Dawn are true and how much is simply legend and myth.  The Others?  Dragons?  Magic?”

“You don’t believe in magic, Brienne?” Jaime asks, his voice a low rumble.

She blinks at him.  “Only the magic of faith,” she says demurely and ignores the small shiver that runs down her back whenever he says her name.

He chuckles.  “Well, that’s magic of a sort.”

“Would you like me to teach you the prayers of Snowianity?”

He considers her thoughtfully and she wonders what’s going through his mind to make him look at her like that.

“Please,” he says, his voice husky.  “I don’t have much time left to beg some god for forgiveness.”

No, Brienne thinks as she begins to intone a prayer and the sky continues to lighten outside.  He has only a day and a night left before he walks to the gallows and her voice falters a little as a sharp wave of grief swamps over her at the thought.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne leaves when the window shows the day has fully dawned.

“Will you return tonight?” Mr. Lannister asks, and for the first time, there’s a thread of worry in his voice.

She blinks owlishly at him, the cell door open and the new guard—Ronnet Connington—is waiting impatiently with a leer on his face.  She nods then leaves, giving the guard a haughty stare as she strides past him.

*/*/*/*/*

She feels no pity for the man who used his dogs on his victims.  She feels only slightly more pity for the rapist.

But the boy from the Vale...

When it’s over, she escapes to her bedchamber. 

She tries to pray, but only weeps.

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne looks at Jaime, tears in her eyes._

_Jaime’s face is grim as he stares back at her._

_“What happened?” he demands._

_She explains then says, “I know what Prisoner Jaime is planning.”_

_“Does she?”_

_She sniffles a little and grabs a tissue.  She wipes her nose and says, “Don’t try to influence Prisoner Jaime.”_

_His expression relaxes slightly.  “I won’t.”_

_She wipes her eyes and says, “I’m still not telling you.”_

_Now he smiles.  “Well played, Junior,” he says and opens his arms._

_She hesitates then scoots closer.  She puts her head on his shoulder as his arms close round her and she, along with Septa Brienne, mourns for that poor, confused boy._

*/*/*/*/*

_“Ready?” Jaime asks when Brienne returns from the washroom.  Her face is glowing red from scrubbing her tears away._

_She nods as she sits down._

_He gently squeezes her hand and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne is as composed as ever when she arrives at Mr. Lannister’s cell door that evening.  She knows there are shadows in her eyes but none of the guards notice.  Mr. Lannister gives her a searching look when she settles once again on the chair.

“Bad?” he asks.

“The last one,” she says, her eyes on her primly folded hands.  “Just a boy, and lackwitted, at that.”

“I thought the young King had decreed new laws that forbade the execution of lackwits?”

Brienne keeps her gaze on her hands:  large and freckled and mannish, yet as useless as a child’s.  “Mayhaps that information has not yet reached Judge Tarly.”

Silence greets her words and lasts until she finally raises her eyes to his.

“Have they managed to break you, Brienne?” he asks softly.

She stares unblinkingly at him and feels a hot flush rising in her cheeks.  “No,” she says. 

She glances at the cell door and bites back the words that she wants to spill out: to tell him of the letters she writes to the High Septon, only to have that holy man punish her even more for daring to question Judge Tarly.  She wants to tell him about the messages she’s sent—anonymously—to every member of the small council, to the Hand of the King, telling them of conditions in the prison, of the young King’s decrees that are being ignored.  She wants to tell him about every argument she’s ever had with Judge Tarly, every objection she’s ever voiced, every small kindness she gave to the prisoners, every moment she’s been able to defy the Hanging Judge, no matter how small.

Only it’s all been for naught.  Her efforts have not saved a single life and her messages have been ignored.

“No,” she says again.  “They are not the ones who have broken me.”  No, men such as Randyll Tarly and the High Septon could not break her, but those men close to the young King, those men who have ignored her pleas…

She meets his gaze with a steady one of her own.  “Would you like me to tell you more about Snowianity?”

His eyes are searching and she holds her breath.

“Yes,” he says slowly, “yes.  Please.”

*/*/*/*/*

She tells him again about the religion and he asks her probing, intelligent questions.

“You’ve thought long on this,” she says as the sky darkens outside his tiny window.

“There’s naught else to do in this cell, except think and sleep,” he says with a glimmer of a smile.

“At least you have thought upon the fate of your immortal soul.  That is more than some have done.”

*/*/*/*/*

They argue theology.  Even now, as the hours of his life tick down, Mr. Lannister challenges her beliefs and everything she holds sacred.  Or mayhaps it’s the hours of her life that are ticking down. 

In the dim semi-light of the cell, she finds she cannot tell the difference.

*/*/*/*/*

They are dozing; he in his chains on the bed; she in her uncomfortable chair, when he wakes with a start, chains clanking.  She wakes as well, with a sharp gasp for breath.

He blinks blearily at her and thinks there is a dignity and a presence about her.  He had not expected to find one such as her in this place.  Good and kind and a true believer.  She sleepily blinks her astonishing eyes and he thinks that in this light, she is almost beautiful, septa or no.

*/*/*/*/*

They talk for another while then Jaime says, “I hang in the morning?”

“An hour after first light,” Brienne says.

“Then if you’re going to save my soul, it will have to be now.”

She stares, those bottomless blue eyes unblinking.  “Yes,” she says and he wonders what she’s thinking.

“I wish to convert to Snowianity,” he says and gives her a half-smile.

“If only so you can wash the filth of this cell from your skin before you hang?” she asks.

He chuckles.  “If you can coax enough water from my guard to do so.”

She cocks her head, her gaze unwavering then she stands and walks to the door.

“Hyle,” she says when the guard opens it for her.  “Find another guard.  We’re taking the prisoner to the river for his baptism.”

*/*/*/*/*

Septa Brienne leads them to the river, droning prayers.  Jaime keeps his head bowed in a posture of penitence, his long hair hiding his face, and wonders what Septa Brienne knows and what she’s planning.  She’s no fool.  Devout and innocent and gullible, yes, but not a fool, and of his three companions, she’s the one who worries him the most.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne leads the condemned man to the river, intoning prayers all the way.  As she prays, she wonders what, exactly, Jaime Lannister is planning on doing.  She has seen many penitent men in the years she’s spent at the prison, ministering to men condemned to die, and if there’s one thing she knows it’s that Jaime Lannister is not intending to convert to Snowianity or the Faith of the Seven or to any of the faiths currently in the world.  The gleam in his eyes is still too wicked, too cunning, too teasing, even after two sleepless nights and his death only hours away.

He is not a man afraid to die.

She stumbles a little at the thought and the two guards escorting them snicker at her clumsiness.  Not even her septa’s robes can shield her from their mockery.  Her anger flares and fades just as quickly.

“Are you all right, Septa Brienne?” Jaime murmurs and she spares him a glance and a quick nod.

He flashes a grin.  “Good.  I’d hate to see you injure yourself before you’ve saved my soul.”

“As would I.”

One of the guards gives Jaime a hard shove and this time, it’s his feet that slip, and he cries out with pain as he falls to his knees on the sharp rocks, the noise of his chains and shackles loud in the quiet night.

“Hyle,” she says sharply, and hurries to help Jaime to his feet.

“Thank you, septa,” he says, and for a moment she can’t seem to look away from his emerald green eyes.

“Are you going to let his pretty face distract you?” calls the second guard, and Brienne hastily steps away.

She turns to the speaker and gives him a steady stare.  “I’ll pray for your soul as well, Mr. Connington,” she says, and continues leading the way to the river.

*/*/*/*/*

They finally make it to the river, slowed down by Jaime’s scraped and bruised knees.

Septa Brienne orders the guards to unshackle him then leads him into the river.

“I am not a Snowist priestess,” she reminds him as they stand thigh deep in the water, the guards warily watching from the river bank, guns at the ready.

“I know,” he says, “but so long as you know the words...that should be enough.”

“It’s not the words, Mr. Lannister,” Brienne says, “it’s what you truly believe in your heart.”

 _I believe you look like a goddess in this light_ , he thinks, but only says, “Yes, septa.”  He lowers his voice.  “I hadn’t expected you.  Brienne.”

Her eyes widen, and he thinks they’re the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen.

“I hadn’t expected you, either,” she says, her voice too quiet for the guards to hear.  “Jaime.”

He smiles, and even in the darkness, he can see she blushes.  She looks away then begins the prayers, her fingertips resting lightly on his forehead, then dropping to his chest, touching each point where the saviour, Jon Snow, had been stabbed before being resurrected to save them from an ancient evil. 

She finishes the prayer, and then comes the moment of truth.

Their eyes meet in the moonlight and Jaime knows she should lower him into the water.  If she lowers him—

She gives him a hard push on his shoulders and he relaxes, allowing himself to fall backwards into the water—and then he’s beneath the surface and he’s kicking and gliding away as quickly as he can.

He breaks the surface for a breath and hears the guards shouting, Brienne’s excited voice, and he goes under again with the crack of a gunshot ringing in his ears.

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime is half-way out of his chair, his hands tightly gripping Brienne’s arm, before he realizes he’s back in the control room._

_“Gods,” he groans and falls back into his seat._

_“You can let go, Jaime,” Brienne says._

_He realizes he’s still clutching at her arm._

_“Are you all right?” he says, his grip tightening.  “I mean...yes, are you all right, but also—is she all right?”_

_She puts her hand on his._

_“She’s fine.  I swear it.”_

_“Thank the gods,” he groans and pulls her into a hug._

_*/*/*/*/*_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N2:** I can't take credit for this plotline. If you've never seen or heard the great song and related music video, [Testify by Alan Doyle](https://youtu.be/UrI1FHQTUZM), I highly, HIGHLY recommend it. ;P


	10. Chapter 10

Jaime clutches her close and for a moment, Brienne allows herself to simply relax into his embrace.

Her heart is still pounding from Septa Brienne’s actions:  pushing her Jaime into the river instead of lowering him beneath the water.  She’s still shaking from the shouts of the guards and the crack of their guns as they fired into the river.

She has a sudden thought and jerks away.

“Are _you_ —I mean, is _he_ —all right?” she asks.

Jaime nods.  “Yes—yes, he’s fine, too—I swear.”

Brienne goes limp with relief and almost wants to fling herself back into her Jaime’s arms, but thinks better of it.

She slumps back in her chair and gives him a shaky smile.

“Well, Prisoner Jaime managed to elude the noose,” she says.

Jaime blinks then nods and sits back, easing away from her.  Brienne has a flash of regret then pushes the feeling away.

Jaime runs his hands through his hair, visibly pulling himself together, then gives her his familiar smirk.  “Did you truly doubt it?”

She rolls her eyes, grateful they both seem to be calming.  “You doubted it, too,” she says.

“Ah,” he murmurs, “did I?  I have the utmost faith in my counterparts.”

Brienne scowls.  “What aren’t you telling me?”

Jaime’s smile turns smug.  “We’ll just have to revisit that universe so you can find out.”

“Gods, not tonight!” she says, shuddering at the memory of that dank, damp cell.  “I’m the one who needs the shower now!”

“You and me both,” Jaime mutters.

Brienne glances at the clock and the computers.  “Well, we have about twenty minutes before we’re back to full power—and I’m serious, Jaime.  I really don’t want to connect to that universe again tonight.”

“All right,” Jaime says.  “Which one do you want to try next?”

She frowns.  “We only have tonight and tomorrow,” she mutters, “and I don’t want to deal with Prince Jaime or the Mad Jon universe now—not after what we’ve just been through.”

Jaime gives her a rueful nod in agreement.

“How about the Farmer Brienne universe?” Brienne says as she pushes to her feet.  “They’re just going to a wedding.  That seems innocuous enough.”

“And then end the night with Megastar Jaime?  That leaves the Prince and Princess, as well as the Mad Jon universe, for tomorrow.  Are you sure you can handle both of those in one night?”

Brienne walks to the door with a frown.  “We’ll be able to have a longer down time between universes, if we need it,” she says.

“Good point,” he says.  “All right—we have our plan.  Where are you going?”

“To shower.  I meant it:  I feel like I need to get the stench of that cell off my skin.”

Jaime grimaces.  “Me too,” he mutters.  “I’ll go once you get back.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime heaves a sigh of relief once the door is safely closed on Brienne’s broad back.

He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes, and for a moment, he’s back with Prisoner Jaime, and the terror he felt at the sound of the guns, and not knowing if Septa Brienne is alive or dead.

_I believe you look like a goddess in this light._

And she had.

He groans and opens his eyes.

Three days, he reminds himself.  They’ve only known each other for three days.

_Soul mates._

He groans again and buries his face in his hands.

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime feels more himself when he returns from his shower._

_Brienne glances at him, finishes making her notes, then puts down her pen and smiles._

_“Ready?” she says._

_He sits and nods, and Brienne hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime arrives the next day with a dress box, and two shoe boxes.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he says, gently shooing Alysanne and Arianne away.  “It’s meant to be a surprise for you, too.”  He hands the dress box to Brienne.  “Go try it on,” he says.

Brienne gives him a tired sigh and tries to ignore the girls’ excited eyes.  “I’m hot and sweaty, Jaime—”

“Take a shower, then, and try it on.  The wedding’s tomorrow, Stretch, and I need to make sure I got the measurements right.”

She rolls her eyes as she grabs the box and stomps away.

*/*/*/*/*

The dress is blue and, she reluctantly admits, it brings out her eyes.  It’s cut in such a way as to give the illusion she has a waist and actual, plump breasts, and the skirt drapes to just above her knees.

She will never admit it to him...but she loves it.

*/*/*/*/*

The girls’ eyes widen and their jaws drop, while Jaime’s eyes gleam as he lets out a low wolf-whistle.

“Shut up,” she mutters, blushing furiously.

“I always thought you’d clean up nice,” Jaime says, chuckling.  “Now, the shoes.”

“Shoes?”

“Well, you can’t wear your work-boots with that dress,” Jaime says, and hands her the two shoe boxes.

Her sisters crowd round as she opens each box and they ooh and aah as the treasures within are revealed.  A pair of dainty flats, and a pair of sexy high-heeled pumps, both in a blue that matches the dress.

“I wasn’t sure if you know how to wear heels,” Jaime says, “and I don’t want you wobbling round like a new-born foal.”

Brienne glares, glances at her sisters, and slips the pumps on her feet.  She flicks her still damp hair over her shoulder, pushes her too-thick lips into a model’s pout, and—to her sisters’ glee—struts round the living room with an exaggerated roll to her hips.  She spins round to face him, skirt flaring, and gives him a challenging glare.

Jaime puts up his hands in surrender, his eyes sparkling as he laughs.  “Okay, okay—have mercy, Stretch!”  He grins as his gaze roams over her.  “Damn, I have good taste,” he says smugly as he saunters to her.  He gently grasps her shoulders and spins her towards her bedroom door.  “Now, go take everything off before you give me a heart attack.”

She takes a step, then pauses, frowning down at him over her shoulder.  “A heart attack?”

“You’re a dirt magnet, Stretch—always have been—and you don’t want to know how much I paid for that dress,” he says and shoos her away.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime’s half-drunk before the reception even starts and Brienne sighs, knowing she’s going to have her hands full in managing her drunken best friend.  He’s tied up with wedding party duties but, he told her last night, at least he’s only a groomsman and not the best man.

One of seven groomsmen, Brienne marvels as she watches the wedding party enter the ballroom.  _Seven_.  And, Cersei being Cersei, and Rhaegar being Rhaegar, and the fact they were both acting like this is a coronation rather than a wedding, the groomsmen are jokingly referred to as the Kingsguard in the never-ending speeches because of their snowy white jackets.

Brienne daintily sips her drink and during the meal—and between Jaime’s frequent visits to mutter some new, sarcastically cynical observation in her ear—she makes conversation with her tablemates, all of whom she knows.  While she hadn’t been officially invited to the wedding, most of the town had been and there are very few people Brienne doesn’t recognize.  Unfortunately, the crowd includes Hyle Hunt and his merry band of assholes—those who had participated in that despicable bet the last time Brienne had ventured out to a social occasion like this.  She studiously ignores their stares, whispers and raucous laughter she knows is directed towards her.

Well, she can avoid them, at least, because almost the entire town has turned out for the wedding and there are more than enough people here who sincerely want to talk to her.  Tywin Lannister owns the town’s largest bank, after all, and does business with virtually everyone—and this is probably the most lavish wedding the town has ever seen.  Or will ever see again.

Brienne knows she wasn’t officially invited only because Cersei has always disliked the fact Jaime had treated Brienne like his favorite sister virtually all his life—and Cersei has never been someone who likes being second in _anyone’s_ affections, for _any_ reason.  Brienne has no doubt Jaime would have had to eventually leave town if only to finally find a girl Cersei wouldn’t be able to run off in less than an hour after meeting her.

Brienne suddenly remembers that girl in high school—Mel?  Melisandre?  No, Melara, that was it—and the way Cersei had treated her.  Melara had moved away the following summer and Brienne had always secretly believed Cersei had been part of the reason for the family’s departure.

Brienne shakes her head and refocuses on the happy couple.  She pays special attention to Rhaegar Targaryen.  She’s only seen him a couple of times.  He’d arrived in town not long after Cersei had returned from her brief time in King’s Landing.  It was only to be expected that they would gravitate to each other—especially in a town like theirs:  small and close-knit, where everyone knows everyone, and nothing very exciting ever happens.

Rhaegar is handsome enough, Brienne supposes:  silver hair and purple eyes, delicate bones and sensitive features.  He’s slender and tall, although not as tall as Brienne, and her shoulders are probably twice as broad.  Judging from Jaime’s whispered commentary, he’s also already Cersei’s slave, catering to her every whim—as if she would settle for anything less.

She tries to keep her eyes from straying to Jaime, but she can’t help it.  His hair is burnished gold, almost as bright as the bride’s, and his shoulders seem impossibly broad in his white jacket.  The look suits him and she wishes she were small and dainty and given to heaving breathy sighs, because that’s exactly how she feels inside.

The bridesmaids are, of course, all beautiful, although not as beautiful as Cersei.  Of course, it is the bride’s day, Brienne thinks, and she is the one who should shine the brightest.

Her gaze drifts back to Jaime.  He notices her stare and lifts his wine glass in salute and winks.  She frowns as she feels a stab of arousal quiver down her spine.  Jaime raises an eyebrow in question and she shakes her head and returns her attention to her table-mates.

She suddenly realizes this may have been the worst decision of her life.

*/*/*/*/*

_“Why is she scowling at him like that?”_

_Brienne looks at her Jaime in wide-eyed horror and silently curses as she feels a flush crawl into her cheeks._

_“She’s just uncomfortable,” she mutters, turning away._

_“That’s it?”_

_She flushes even brighter at his skepticism.  She jumps to her feet and hurries to the door.  “Don’t you try to influence Singer Jaime,” she scolds as she does so.  “He’s been teasing that poor girl more than enough already.”_

_“Where are you going?”_

_She glares at the laughter in his voice.  “The bathroom,” she snaps and rushes away._

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne returns with coffee and snacks from the vending machines in the kitchen, but she had timed her return well._

_She barely has time to sit down before Jaime gives her a questioning look, his fingers on the keyboard._

_She puts everything down and nods._

_Jaime hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

She’s dead.

She must be dead, she decides, because this can only be some sweet, seductive hell that she’s fallen into as punishment for… _something_.  Something done in a previous life, because she sure as all seven hells has not done anything to deserve this torture in this one.

She’s danced with Jaime a time or two before, of course.  He always made sure he danced with her at school dances even when he brought a date.  But tonight…

His hand shifts on the small of her back and her knees go weak.

Literally.

_Weak._

Why? she wonders almost desperately.  After five years gone, _why_ does she still feel this way?

Maybe it’s because he _had_ been gone so long, and she’d never fully understood exactly what effect he had on her while he was there.  Maybe it’s because he grew up while he was away, just like she has.  Maybe it’s because he’s shed his jacket and tie, and his shirt is open to reveal the strong lines of his neck and all she wants to do is lean in and nib—

Jaime suddenly spins them round until she’s dizzy and laughing at him to stop.

“You’re lucky I took those damn shoes off,” she tells him when he finally stops.

“You’re the one who insisted on wearing them in the first place.”

“You’re the one who told me I couldn’t!”

Jaime laughs and tugs her a little closer.  “I’ve really missed you, Stretch,” he says.

She blushes and hopes her cheeks are still so red from the spinning that he won’t notice.

“I’m beginning to wonder if I missed you,” she mutters.  He just laughs and spins her again.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne pads back to the living room with a beer in each hand.  She hasn’t had beer in the fridge since her father died, she thinks as she settles beside Jaime, sprawled boneless on the couch, and reminds herself to keep Jaime out of the kitchen.  If he sees how bare her fridge and cupboards truly are...

She gives him a quick smile as they clink their bottles together and take a drink.

“Well,” he says with a sigh, “I’m glad that’s over.”

“All that’s left is the crying, huh?”

He raises an eyebrow.  “Your support and sympathy is overwhelming, Stretch.”

She snorts.  “I put on a dress and went to the wedding of a woman I dislike simply because you begged me,” she says drily.  “I think I’ve already passed the Best Friend Support and Sympathy Test.”

He gives her a slow, lazy smile that stops her in her tracks.  She blinks rapidly and looks away.

“I had to practically force you on to the dance floor,” he says.  “You used to love to dance.  What happened after I left?”

Brienne shoots him a startled glance wondering if somebody had told him what had happened.  But there’s no knowing look in his eyes.  She turns her attention to the beer bottle in her hand and shrugs.  “My father died,” she says, “and when I ventured back into the world, well...there was...an incident.”  She frowns as she picks at the bottle’s label.  “It was a long time ago, Jaime.  Not worth discussing.”

He’s silent for so long that she risks another glance at him.  There’s a simmering rage in his green eyes and she blinks a little at it.

“It was fucking Hunt and his cronies, wasn’t it?” Jaime growls.  “I saw them watching you and laughing.”

“Watch your language; I don’t want the girls to hear!  And it doesn’t matter who it was.”

“Of course it matters if it keeps you from doing something you used to enjoy!”

“It’s also none of your business, Jaime!  You left, remember?”

“I left this place,” he snaps.  “I left my father’s suffocating presence, and Cersei’s petty jealousy.  I never meant to leave _you_!”

She surges to her feet.  “And yet that’s exactly what you did.”  She clunks her beer bottle on to the coffee table.  “It’s late and I have to be up in a few hours to do chores.  You should go home now.”

Jaime’s smile is bitter.  “ _Home?_   My home is leagues away from this place.”  His eyes gleam.  “Besides, I’m too drunk to drive.”

She rolls her eyes; he stopped drinking hours ago and hasn’t taken more than two sips of his beer.

“Fine,” she growls.

She stomps to the closet, drags out a blanket and tosses it on the couch.

“Maybe I should wake you when it’s time to do chores,” she snaps.  “Remind you of what’s real and what isn’t.”

*/*/*/*/*

In deference to the fact there are young girls in the house, Jaime only removes his belt and socks and sleeps in his clothes.

Or tries to.

His mind is whirling too much and even after he finishes his beer and then Brienne’s, he still can’t relax enough to sleep.  He’s too confused by the homely, lumbering blonde—who had looked amazing in that blue dress and those heels—sleeping in the bedroom down the hall.

She used to tell him everything, and the fact she doesn’t trust him anymore with everything bothers him—especially after he gave her the space she wanted when he left.

He sighs and rolls off the couch.

Maybe another beer will do the trick.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime opens the fridge and blinks at the sparsely filled shelves.  The beer he brought looks strange in all that empty space.  He frowns as he closes the fridge.  He glances over his shoulder to make sure he hasn’t woken anyone then begins to open freezer doors and, finally, the cupboards.

They have the basics, he finds, but there are no luxuries, and even the basics are bare-boned.  There’s at least meat in the freezer and vegetables in the garden, and Jaime wonders just how close they are to losing it all.

He carefully closes the last cupboard and quietly walks back to his bed on the couch.  He doesn’t know if he’s angry with Brienne for not telling him how badly off they are, or if he’s angry with himself for not asking, and even more angry for not being here for her, whether she wanted him to be or not.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime easily convinces the girls to be his willing accomplices.  They’re young and he doesn’t think they have much opportunity to break their sister’s rules.  Once he has them on board with the plan, he gleefully needles Brienne until she practically orders him to take the girls into town.  Alysanne and Arianne are in the car laughing with him as he spins out of the farmyard.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime knows Brienne won’t thank him for buying groceries, but he hopes that if he keeps Alysanne and Arianne between them, she won’t actually get close enough to break any of his limbs.

From the look on her face and the glare she gives him, he might have misjudged the depth of her anger.

“What is all this?” she asks flatly as the girls put the last of the bags on the table and begin to unload the groceries.

“What does it look like?” he asks blithely, giving her a bland smile.  “I’ve been here more than I’ve been at my parents’, and if I’m going to be eating you out of house and home, I want to make sure the food you give me is up to my exacting standards.”

“Your exact—you used to eat mud pies, Jaime!”

“Only when you made them, m’lady,” he says as he scoops up her hand and playfully kisses the back of it.  “Usually because I was too afraid of you to say no.”

She flushes a dark red as she yanks her hand from his grasp.  “You’re still an idiot,” she mutters.

He sobers.  “Mayhaps.”  He considers her thoughtfully, then says, “Can we leave the girls to put the groceries away while we go for a walk?”

Her flush deepens but before she can speak, Alysanne and Arianne loudly urge them to go and leave them to take care of things.  Jaime knows it’s because they want to sneak a couple of chocolate bars before supper but he’s willing to take their help.  He did bribe them with the chocolate, after all.

Brienne grumbles as she grabs her sweater, shoves her feet into her worn sneakers and stomps out ahead of him.

He easily keeps up with her until they arrive at the edge of the creek in the pasture and Jaime hides a smile that she automatically led him to their old spot.  Brienne stops and wraps her arms round her stomach, then turns to glare at him.

“You went through the kitchen last night, didn’t you?”  Her betrayed tone is almost amusing.

“Yeah,” he says.  “How has it gotten so bad for you, Brienne?”

She scowls and for a moment Jaime seriously thinks she’s going to shove him into the muddy creek bed.  Then she turns abruptly away, her shoulders hunching as she wraps her arms more tightly round herself.

“My father stopped paying attention to the farm for the last few years of his life,” she mutters.

“I remember,” Jaime murmurs.  Selwyn Tarth was a good father, a good man, but he spiralled into despair and growing alcoholism after his wife died having Arianne.  But Jaime hadn’t expected the man would sink so low as to leave his daughters in such dire straits.

“I did what I could while he was alive,” she says, and Jaime nods.  He knows how hard she worked.  “Things were...tolerable.  He even seemed to be getting his drinking under control.”  She heaves a sigh.  “A few months after you left, he mortgaged the place to the hilt, disappeared on a massive bender, and when he came back, he promptly rolled the tractor down the hill.”  She glances over her shoulder at him then again turns away.  “No life insurance.”

“Why did he mortgage the place?”

Brienne gives a small shrug.  “To pay for the bender, as far as I can tell,” she says bitterly.  “I’ve never seen the money but I certainly owe the payments.”

There’s a cold, sinking feeling in his stomach.  “Who holds the mortgage?”

She gives him a pitying look over her shoulder.  “Who do you think?”

Jaime closes his eyes and grimaces.  His father.  Of course.

Then he frowns.  He opens his eyes and stares at the back of Brienne’s head.

“Why would my father agree to loan your father money?” he asks.  “My dad knew what your father was like.  He didn’t get rich by throwing money away.”  His frown deepens.  “And how much money are we talking about?”

Brienne turns round and glares but she says nothing in defense of her father.  She knows what Jaime has said is true.

“Three hundred thousand dragons,” she mutters and Jaime’s jaw drops.

“And you have no idea where the money went?” he says incredulously.

“ _No!_   There was nothing in my father’s accounts, and according to the records at the bank, he never paid anything against the mortgage...although he did die almost immediately after getting the loan.”

“There’s no way he went through three hundred grand on a bender, Brienne!”

Brienne rubs her forehead and sighs.  “You wouldn’t think so...but I can’t find where the money _went_ , Jaime!  Gods, if there were any left...you have no idea...”  She abruptly turns her back and Jaime realizes she’s fighting tears.

“Brienne,” he says softly, and tentatively touches her shoulder.  She shrugs his hand away and he hesitates for a moment before he steps closer and puts his arms round her.  She tenses but she doesn’t try to escape, so he takes that as a good sign.  He gently turns her round and pulls her into a hug.  She stands stiff and unyielding in his arms.

“I’m sorry, Brienne,” he whispers against her ear.  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you.”

His words seem to break something inside her because her shoulders begin to shake and then she’s clutching at him, her face buried in his neck as she sobs.

He holds her and lets her weep, and thinks there’s something very strange about her story but he’s damned if he can think of what it is.

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime sighs.  “Briennes can’t seem to catch a break,” he says._

_Brienne nods._

_He looks thoughtful and opens his mouth._

_“Don’t even ask,” she growls._

_“Right,” he says, and grabs his cup of coffee._

*/*/*/*/*

_They wait out the half hour in silence, and only exchange a questioning look and a nod before Jaime once again hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime’s still pondering Brienne’s story the next day as he finishes his workout at the town’s only gym.

He’s using his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face as he walks into the change room.

“Lannister!”

He turns and frowns when he sees Red Ronnet Connington approaching with an even smarmier grin than usual on his face.  Jaime glances round and hides a grimace when he realizes they’re alone in the change room.

“Great to see you again, man,” Ronnet says as Jaime shakes his proffered hand.

Jaime raises an eyebrow at that.  He and Ronnet had never been particularly friendly before he left, and barely exchanged two words at the wedding.  Then again, Jaime _is_ famous at the moment, and that makes everybody he’s ever known want to be his best friend.

“Your sister threw a great party on Saturday,” Ronnet says, “although what possessed her to put the groomsmen in white—if you had your hair any longer, you could have been mistaken for the bride!”  Ronnet laughs uproariously at his own joke while Jaime pretends to smile through gritted teeth.

“I saw you dancing with our local giant,” Ronnet say. He leans closer and lowers his voice, “I think there’s still a pot of dragons up for grabs if you managed to fuck her that night.  Although it’s not really fair if you won, since you’ve known each other since you were kids.”

Jaime knows Ronnet is speaking a language he understands, but he can’t seem to make sense out of what the other man is saying.

Ronnet recognizes his confusion and a worried look crawls across his stupid face.  “I saw you talking with Hunt at the dance.  I thought he gave you the low-down on the bet, especially once you started dancing with that hairy cow—”

Jaime’s fist lands on Connington’s jaw with a satisfying crunch.  Connington sprawls on the floor, blood pouring from his split lip.  Jaime leans down and hisses, “Her name is _Brienne_ , you _dick,_ and if anyone asks, you slipped in the shower.”  He straightens and sneers down at the other man.  “Just be grateful you only split your lip”

*/*/*/*/*

“Why didn’t you tell me what those assholes did?”

Jaime’s anger is more frightening because his voice is so tightly controlled, almost as tight as his fists, his knuckles turning white.

“Because it was a long time ago,” she snaps, “and none of your business.”

“ _They made a bet!_   They made a bet on who was going to convince you to fuck them!”

“Yes, I know—I was there,” she says drily.  “I will never forgive them for that.  But it’s over.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You weren’t _here_ , Jaime!  You’d left, remember?  You’d fucked off to Music Row in King’s Landing, trying to make a name for yourself in the music business!  And you never called, you never wrote!  You could have been dead in a ditch somewhere for all I knew!”

“I told Cersei to tell you where I was!”

“Why didn’t _you_ tell me where you were, Jaime?  You just...left.”  In a moment all her anger drains out of her.  “You just left,” she says again, “and we were supposed to be best friends.”

Jaime frowns.  “I thought that was what you wanted!”

“Why would you think that?”

The muscles in his jaw flex, then he says, slowly, “My father told me you were very angry.  It’s why you never said good-bye.”

Brienne’s eyes widen.  “I wasn’t angry,” she says.  “I mean, I was mad at you after our last fight but I was never angry you left.  I always knew you weren’t meant for a place like this.  I always knew you would leave and make your way somewhere else, and be successful at it, too.”  She frowns.  “And how was I supposed to say good-bye?  You left without telling me anything about it.”

Now it’s Jaime’s turn to widen his eyes.  “What the fuck do you mean?  I left you message after message after message!”

They stare at each other in silence.

“Our fathers?” Brienne finally whispers.

“Who else could it have been?” he sighs.  He runs a hand through his hair.  “I knew I should have tracked you down, but Father said you’d been adamant that I was to leave you alone.  Your father told me you’d calm down in time.”

“Why would they do this?” Brienne asks, her voice weak.

Jaime sighs.  “My father?  Well, who knows why my father does anything, really.  Your father?”  He sighs again. “He knew I was going to ask you to go with me.”

Her jaw drops.  “Go with you?”

He nods.  “I wanted us to go on this adventure together.  You’re not meant for a place like this, either, you know, only you can’t seem to get yourself out.”

She laughs at that.  “I’m not destined for anything else, Jaime,” she says and she can’t seem to stop the bitterness from seeping through.  “I’m big and ugly, a strong smallfolk woman.  My lot in life is to work the land and raise my sisters, and I have no doubt that I’ll end up dying in that field over there, just like my father—if I don’t lose the farm before then.”

He scoffs.  “You could go anywhere, Brienne, be anything you wanted to be, if you could just catch a break.”

She rolls her eyes, then softens.  “You really wanted me to go with you?”

“We were supposed to conquer the world together, remember?  Isn’t that what best friends do?”

“And my father helped sabotage it?”

“It looks like it,” Jaime says and sighs.  “Don’t hate him,” he says gently.  “You know he was barely making it through each day.  He’d lost your mother.  He couldn’t stand to lose you, too.”

“I can’t hate him,” she mutters, blinking rapidly against a hot rush of tears, “but it’s not that simple.”  And it’s not.  Her feelings for her father are complicated, a mixture of pity and love and rage, all clamoring for her attention.  He’d fallen apart slowly for years, then died and left her to pick up the pieces.  It didn’t matter it wasn’t intentional—she’s spent the last few years working through her rage and disappointment while trying not to taint Alysanne’s and Arianne’s memories.

“It’s not that simple,” she whispers again.

“Then please don’t hate _me_ ,” Jaime says.  “I thought you wanted me to stay away from you.”

“Never,” she says, then realizes what she’s said, and flushes. 

“Good,” he says and slowly grins, “because I’m back in your life, Brienne, and this time you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

*/*/*/*/*

On his last day home, Jaime and Brienne stroll to their spot by the creek.  Her heart is aching at the fact he’s leaving and she doesn’t know when she’ll see him again.

“At least this time we’ll call and e-mail and text,” he says with a nudge of his shoulder against hers.

“Right,” she says, with a nudge back.  “Only I have to do all of that at the library.”

“Right,” he says and sighs.  “Still...better than nothing.”

She nods and stares down at the sluggishly moving water.

Still no rain, a distant part of her mind thinks, and she wonders if she’s going to get enough out of the fields to make her mortgage payment.  She can’t sell any more cattle if she still wants meat for the winter, and—

“Why don’t you and the girls come for a visit?”

Brienne gives him a startled look.  “A visit?  To King’s Landing?”

“No, to the Wall.  Of course, King’s Landing! It’s where I live, after all!”

“Jaime, you know I can barely afford to get the girls to school.  How am I going to get them to King’s Landing?”

“My treat.”  He shrugs when he sees the mulish set of her features.  “Or my loan.”

“Great.  Like I need any more debt.”

“Well, see, that’s the thing:  I’ve been thinking—”

“Always dangerous,” she mutters.

“Ha, ha,” he says.  “I’m serious.  I’ve been thinking, and while I want you and the girls to come for a visit and leave all these worries behind for a week, I also want to give you the chance to do some digging in the city.”

“What kind of digging?”

“Your father took out a three hundred grand dragon mortgage on your farm.  Where did that money go?”

She looks skeptical but also reluctantly intrigued.  “And you think we might find something out in the city?”

He shrugs. “Well, we sure as shit won’t find anything out here, especially if my father is the one who swindled you out of your future.”

Brienne sighs and shakes her head.  “The only one who swindled me was my father, Jaime, not yours.”

“You said yourself he went away for a few weeks.”

“He drank it all,” she says flatly.

“Or he invested it.”

She blinks.  “It’s been five years.  Somebody would have tried to get in touch with him by now and found me instead.”

Jaime thoughtfully considers her.  “What are you more afraid of, Brienne?  Finding out for sure that your father drank and partied all that money away—or finding out he didn’t?”

She flushes. “If I don’t know,” she slowly says, “then I’m not lying to the girls when they ask what happened.”

“But you _could_ know.  Don’t you owe it to your sisters to take the shadow of uncertainty away from them?  Or do you want them to wonder forever, just like you?”

“I want them to remember our father with respect.  They don’t really understand how bad things were, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“By hiding from the truth?  That’s not the Brienne I know.”

“The Brienne you knew is five years in the past, Jaime.”

Jaime puts his hands on her shoulders.  “I don’t believe that,” he says gently.  “You’re still brave and honest and stronger than anyone else I know.  Except for this one thing.  You have to learn the truth, Brienne, or you’ll never move on from it, and neither will your sisters.”  He gives her a little shake.  “Let me help you do this.  Let me be the best friend I should have been when you needed me.”

“Jaime...”

“Come on,” he wheedles and leans closer.  “The girls will have a great time.”

“Not fair!”

“Have I ever played fair with you, Stretch?”

She snorts.

“Come on,” he pleads softly, giving her his best puppy eyes.

She groans and agrees.

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime looks at Brienne with a relieved sigh._

_“That wasn’t so bad,” he says._

_“Better than expected,” she agrees, then stands and stretches.  “And I don’t need a shower.”_

_He grins.  “No, but I could use a drink.”_

*/*/*/*/*


	11. Chapter 11

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime and Brienne take turns stretching their legs, recovering from their last series of experiments.  Jaime ends up in the kitchen, looking without any pleasure at what’s on offer in the vending machines.  He really could use a drink, he thinks glumly, even though the Farmer Brienne universe is actually rather…pleasant.

For one thing, Singer Jaime is only twenty-five and he rather wistfully wishes he was still that young in this universe.  For another, while those counterparts were facing their own struggles, the stakes weren’t nearly as high as in the other universes.  It really is the universe that’s closest to this one, at least in that respect.

He winces at the thought.  He remembers Singer Jaime’s reaction to seeing Farmer Brienne prancing round the living room in that blue dress and those heels that showed off surprisingly pretty legs.  Farmer Brienne had looked remarkably sexy for such a markedly unsexy woman.  And dancing with her…

His cock stirs at the memory, just like Singer Jaime’s had at that moment.  Jaime closes his eyes and grimaces.

It’s only been two universes out of five, he assures himself.  And here, in the Prime universe, he’s not attracted to Junior _at all_.  He loves Taena; is still devastated by her betrayal and a part of him almost hopes they can find their way back together.  He feels absolutely nothing for Junior except respect for her knowledge of physics and her ability to keep up with him during their workouts.

And she’s funny and awkward and shy and irritating, and he likes her very much.

He scowls as he finally decides on a soft drink and steps to that vending machine.

He likes Brienne as a colleague and a person and a friend.  But he’s not _attracted_ to her.  The very idea is ridiculous.

The bottle clunks out of the machine and he grabs it.  He walks back to the control room, still scowling.

Brienne glances up as he walks in.  She blinks those remarkable eyes and smiles, and he pauses.

He is _not_ attracted to her.

Not at all.

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne frowns as Jaime hesitates on the doorstep._

_“Do you want to stop for the night?” she asks, suddenly concerned.  “We can always continue this tomorrow.”_

_He scowls.  “What?  No.  Why would you even suggest it?”_

_“You look…strange.”_

_Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “I would resent that description if I didn’t know I’m such a handsome devil.”_

_She quickly glances away, because ‘handsome’ doesn’t even begin to do justice as a description of Jaime’s looks.  She remembers Farmer Brienne’s weak knees and breathy internal reactions to Singer Jaime in his white suit jacket, and tries not to cringe with embarrassment._

_She forces herself to straighten her shoulders and give him a smirk.  “Well, whatever helps you sleep at night,” she says._

_He grins as he slides into the chair beside her._

_“Enough,” he says.  “Are we ready for Megastar Jaime?”_

_She nods, and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

"I'm Tyrion Lannister, Mr. Lannister's accountant.  And brother, to my horror."  Tyrion shakes each police officer’s hand then settles on the chair beside Jaime.  Tyrion glances round the drab interrogation room.  "Love the sub-prison theme you have going on here."

The older officer, Morgan, narrows his eyes.  "I've heard of you," he says and turns his dark eyes to Jaime.  "You called your _accountant_?"

Jaime shrugs.  "He was already on his way to the house and I knew he'd be pissed if I was gone when he got there."

Tyrion rolls his eyes.  "I'm also a lawyer," he says.

"An entertainment lawyer, specializing in royalty agreements," Morgan says drily.

Tyrion gives him a slight smile, his mismatched eyes thoughtful.  "I'm flattered you've heard of me," he says.  "You are correct; but I _am_ still a lawyer."  He glances at Jaime.  "I hope you've kept your mouth shut until I got here," he says.

Jaime is slouched back in his chair, wondering if this is just a very vivid hallucination caused by alcohol poisoning.  "Not difficult to do, since I barely remember the last week."

"You were heard arguing--loudly--with Pia Peckledon, also known as Jazz, in the penthouse suite by hotel staff," the younger police officer, Karl, says.  "We were told you wrecked the place during that argument."

"Okay," Jaime says, feeling helpless.

"Do you remember what you argued about?"

"I don't remember wrecking the room, let alone the argument."

Morgan's eyes are shrewd. "What _do_ you remember?"

Tyrion says, "I'd like to speak to my client alone before he answers that."

Jaime rolls his eyes and waves Tyrion’s concerns away. "I'm going to say right now, I certainly don't remember doing anything violent to the girl, and I know I didn't kill her.  We dropped her off at her house..."  He pauses, his face scrunched in thought.  "All right," he mutters, rubbing his forehead, “today you took me in for questioning; yesterday, I met my squat—er—tenants; the night before was the orgy--"

" _Orgy?_ " Tyrion exclaims.  "And you never called me?"

"Neither of you seem to appreciate the seriousness of this situation," Morgan growls, and the thread of steel in his deep baritone voice immediately sobers the Lannister brothers.

"The night of the orgy was the night we dropped Jazz off at her house," Jaime says.  "And trust me, we _do_ understand the seriousness of the situation."

"It's a coping mechanism," Tyrion mutters and pulls out an antacid pill.  "You going to drink that water, Jaime?"

Jaime shakes his head and Tyrion grabs it.  He glances at the expressions on the faces of the two police officers and grins.

"Jaime will voluntarily give you a DNA sample," he says as he plops the antacid pill into the water.  " _And_ his fingerprints _and_ whatever else you may need."

Karl's eyes narrow.  "You seem very confident your brother has nothing to hide."

Tyrion barks a harsh laugh.  "My brother has so many things he should hide…he just never has."  He gulps at the foaming concoction in the glass.

Karl's expression is one of contemptuous disbelief.  He turns to Jaime.  "So, the night of the orgy..." he says.

"Yes," Jaime says.  "So, that's the night before last, if I haven’t lost any more days.  We had an argument in the car; she jumped out at one point and we coaxed her back in, and then we dropped her off at a house in the suburbs.  We even made sure a light went on inside before we drove away." 

He shrugs at the cops' blatant disbelief.

"Look, I'm an asshole, okay?  I'm a rich and famous hedonistic rock star and that comes with a lot of perks, if you know what I mean.  When I'm between girlfriends, I have no problem taking what's being willingly offered and I barely remember their names or faces in the morning.  I'm an asshole, but I'm not a jerk.  I wasn't going to just _dump_ her somewhere without thinking it was a safe location for a woman, alone at night!  It was very late by the time we dropped her off, and--"

He stops, suddenly stricken. 

"Look what happened to her anyway."  He frowns.  "What _did_ happen to her?  I mean...was she--?  _No_.  I don't really want to know."  He scrubs his hands over his face and groans.

"Look," he says, "I learned that my ex-girlfriend-the-minute-I-ever-see-her-again emptied out my bank accounts and tried to sell off most of my assets.  The revelation was...disheartening, to say the least.  I decided to drown my sorrows on the relatively small sliver of credit she hadn't managed to get to before I stumbled over what she was doing.  That was...what day is it?"

"Monday," Karl slowly drawls.

"Right.  Monday.  So I would have found out about Taena…last Monday?”

Tyrion nods.

Jaime continues, “Last Monday, I was in Sin City.  Just finished up a month of shows at the Sunspear Water Gardens.  Sunspear is a bad place to find out you're broke; great place to drown your sorrows about it.  Saturday--or, I suppose the early hours of Sunday morning—we dropped the girl--Jazz--at her place here in King's Landing.  In between..."  He shrugs.  “You know more than I do.”

"Do you remember when and where you met Jazz?"

Jaime scowls, thinking, then shakes his head.  "Not for certain.  The days blend together when you're on a bender, you know."  He looks at the stoic faces of the two police officers.  "Or maybe you don't know."  He frowns, staring off into space.  "I remember heading to the casino once I realized what Taena had done and started ordering drinks.  And then...I remember...a bed.  Voices.  The bells and whistles of slot machines.  The taste of really cheap booze.  But the first clear memory I have is the back of the car, when we were arriving here, in King's Landing."  He frowns.  "Have you talked to Bronn?  He might at least remember where we dropped the girl."

"Bronn Stokeworth?  Your chauffeur?"

"Only Bronn I know, I think."

"We haven't been able to track him down yet."

Jaime frowns.  "Well, he knew I was going to need a few days to recover.  Maybe he took the chance for a little holiday.  Gods, I hope he dropped off my clothes before he buggered off."

*/*/*/*/*

The cops let him go with barely concealed contempt, and he and Tyrion find Addam waiting for them in the chaos of the squad room.

“It’s already out,” Addam says flatly.

“Gods,” Jaime groans as they head for the doors.  “How long before the varysazzi get here?”

Addam gives him a pitying look and opens the door to a wall of noise, flashing lights, and microphones.

*/*/*/*/*

“Brienne!  _Brienne!_ ”

Brienne jumps a little as Nymeria bursts into her bedroom, interrupting Brienne’s review of the video from the night of the orgy.

“You’ve got to look outside!” Nymeria says, dark eyes wide.

Brienne scowls.  “Why?”

“Because we’re being invaded!”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne stands with Nymeria and Nan, peeking discreetly out of an upper bedroom’s window.

“Gods,” Brienne mutters, “who knew there were so many bloody varysazzi in the city?”

“You really need to watch awards shows more often,” Nym replies.

They stand, watching the milling crowd.

“They don’t all work for trashy tabloids,” Brienne says.  “Look:  WNN; Direwolf News; WBC, and…is that Petyr Baelish’s PB Channel van down there?”

Nym and Nan peer closer.

“It is!” Nan says.  “What’s a _porn_ channel doing here?”

Nym says, “Well, Jaime Lannister’s leaked sex video is the most downloaded celebrity porn video on the PB Channel, but yeah.  They’re a couple of days too late to film the party the other night.”

Nan rolls her eyes.  “You and your orgies, Nymeria,” she sniffs.

“You should try it sometime, Nan, you might enjoy it.”

Nan glares and Brienne shushes them.

“Where _is_ Jaime?” she says.  “Maybe everyone’s here because they know he’s in residence.”

“I haven’t seen him all day,” Nym says.

“He left this morning with a couple of guys,” Nan says.  “I don’t know if he’s home yet.”

Brienne frowns.  “Well, it can’t be because of the video,” she mutters, “unless…”  She slowly turns and stares with horror at Nymeria.  “You didn’t tell anyone there were cameras planted everywhere, did you?”

Nymeria rolls her eyes.  “How stupid do you think I am?”

Brienne breathes a sigh of relief.  “Then I’m sure this isn’t because of us.”

They once again peer out from behind the curtains and Brienne sees a car, inching its way through the press of bodies.  The photographers and videographers and those men and women clutching microphones and recorders swarm round the car like an army of ants trying to devour a piece of cake.

After a moment, the car's doors that are closest to the mansion are forced open.  A red-haired man gets out, and begins pushing his way through the crowd.  He’s followed by a little person, and finally Jaime.  They’re struggling to make their way through the crowd and to the mansion door when Brienne has a sudden thought.

She spins to Nan.  “Is the door locked?”

“Of course.”

The three women stare at each other for a moment then break and run for the stairs.

*/*/*/*/*

The men’s faces are grim as they briefly explain to the women what had happened to cause the media of the world to descend on the mansion like a horde of locusts.

They’re in the lounge and Jaime’s sprawled bonelessly on the couch, a stiff drink in his hand.

“Are you sure you should be drinking that?” Brienne says with a disapproving nod.

Jaime gives her a disbelieving look, then slowly moves his gaze down her body then up again.  He lazily turns to Tyrion.

“She doesn’t _look_ like our mother.”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “I’m not being a tee-totaller,” she snaps.  “It just seems that drinking is what got you into this mess in the first place.”

“Actually, Taena Merryweather cleaning out my bank account is what got me into this mess.”

Nymeria gasps.  “You mean those rumors in the tabloids are true?”

Jaime shrugs.  “Well, sooner or later they had to get something right.”

Brienne scowls, and opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Nymeria says, “Well, I think you should hire a private detective and do your own investigation.”

Brienne chokes and turns to her.  “Nym.  No.”

“Brienne.  Yes.”

Jaime exchanges glances with Addam and Tyrion then looks at Brienne and drawls, “You’re not really a caterer, I take it.”

Brienne glares at Nymeria.  “I _am_ a caterer.”

Nymeria rolls her eyes.  “And this is why you only ever get clients asking you to take dirty pictures.”

Jaime’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline then he turns to Addam and Tyrion.  “Could I have some time alone with our resident…whatever the hell she is?”

Addam and Tyrion get to their feet.  An unhappy Nan and Nymeria finally agree to go when Brienne rolls her eyes and nods at them.

“Tell me more about these dirty pictures,” she hears Tyrion say as the door closes behind them.

She stares at Jaime, who’s staring at her with his green eyes as cold and hard as glass.

"So,” he drawls, “you’re a private detective.  Who just happens to be squatting in my house at the same time my lover absconds with all my money.”

Her eyes widen.  “What?” she says blankly, then, “no, no, no!  I don’t even know your—your lover!  I _am_ a caterer!  I just also happen to be a private investigator...although I'm a pretty miserable failure at it.  The only jobs I’ve been able to get are trailing cheating spouses in order to snap sordid pictures to be used in court."

“And how did you end up here again?”

Brienne sighs.  “It’s not like my catering business is doing all that well, either,” she mutters.  “It’s tough finding clients for either business.  And the rent went up again at our apartments and my business location, and we were desperate.”

“And just happened to land on using my house?”

She shrugs.  “It was just sitting here, basically empty.  Nobody was ever here, other than a yard maintenance company once a week and a maid service once a month.”

Jaime’s eyes narrow.  “How would you know that?”

She rolls her eyes and gingerly perches on the edge of an armchair.  “I’m a detective.  I figured it out,” she says drily then shrugs.  “And Nymeria told me there was a rumor on one of those online gossip sites that you were so rich, you owned a mansion you’d never even seen.”  She gives him a half-smile.  “Turns out the tabloids got two things right.”

Jaime’s expression softens and his mouth twitches towards a smile.

“All right,” he says.

Brienne makes to rise.

“Where are you going?”

“To get everybody else.”

He raises an eyebrow.  “We’re not finished yet.”

She slowly sinks back into the chair.

"Are you a good detective?" he asks.

Brienne bristles, then remembers that he's letting her live in his house rent free until she can find an apartment she can afford when he could have thrown her sorry ass in jail.

"Yes,” she says.  “I'm competent, stubborn, and I won't stop until I've done what I promised to do."

"Good.  I want you to find out who murdered Pia Peckledon.  And reveal it publicly.  Even _my_ career won't survive being a murder suspect for long."

Brienne frowns in confusion then her jaw slowly drops.  "I've never investigated a murder before!" she stammers.

"That's all right; I've never been suspected of being a murderer before."  He smirks his trademark smirk and despite herself and the gravity of the situation, her knees quiver.  "We're in this together, Legs."

She blinks.  " _Legs?_ " she sputters.  "This isn't some film noir movie, Jaime!  This isn't _fun_!"

Jaime leans forward, green eyes glittering.  "Well, it's definitely not fun for poor Pia—or rather, Jazz.  But I’m more relaxed because I have an advantage over everybody else."

Brienne's almost afraid to ask.  "What's that?"

"I know I didn't do it."  He grins and leans back.  "I'm not naive enough to believe that just because I'm innocent means I'm in the clear and while those two cops seem decent, I'm not about to trust a couple of poorly paid flatfoots with my life and reputation."

"So...you'll trust a private investigator who's never done more than snap dirty pictures for divorce cases?" she asks skeptically.

"You said it yourself:  you're stubborn and you always follow through on your promises."  Then he shrugs.  “Besides, I can’t afford to hire anyone else at the moment—at least not until my next royalty cheque.  You, at least, can do it for a free place to live for you and your friends.”

Brienne’s mouth drops again, and then her eyes narrow.  "And if I find evidence that you did murder that poor girl?"

"If you can find evidence that proves beyond any doubt that I murdered that poor girl, then I'll turn myself in."  He leans forward again, his eyes boring into hers.   "But I _didn't_ do it."

Brienne's mesmerized, pinned to her chair by his intent stare.  She gulps and says, "If—if I take the job, I'll follow wherever the evidence leads, no matter where that is.”

His smile this time is slow and even sexier in person than it is in his music videos.  "That's all I ask," he purrs.

*/*/*/*/*

_“Well,” Jaime says as the control room comes back into focus._

_Brienne stares at him, her eyes narrowed.  “Is he really innocent?”_

_Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “We’ve agreed we’re not going to share our counterparts’ inner thoughts so we don’t inadvertently influence them.”_

_Brienne snorts.  “I doubt we can influence them anyway.”_

_“Ah.  You’ve been trying?”_

_Brienne flushes.  “No!”  She frowns.  “Aren’t you worried?”_

_“No, but I do feel like I need popcorn.”_

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime finds microwave popcorn in the kitchen cupboards and brings a bag back to the control room along with wetnaps to wipe their hands.  It’ll be a snack while they’re waiting for the generators to return to full power after the next run of the experiment.  It’ll still be hot because, after all, the experiments only last for five seconds._

_The dissonance between the amount of time that passes in the other universes and the time that passes in his makes him dizzy.  Something else to work through when they’re back in King’s Landing he decide as he walks into the control room and puts the popcorn on a table._

_He sits beside Brienne._

_He should just be glad he’s thinking about science again instead of wondering if Brienne Prime would look as beautiful as Septa Brienne in the moonlight, or wondering whether Brienne Prime’s legs would look as good as Farmer Brienne’s if he ever saw her in a dress and heels._

_His smile and nod is almost relieved when Brienne glances at him to see if he’s ready for the next run of the experiment._

_She hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Morgan and Karl stare at Brienne with expressionless faces.

“A private investigator,” Morgan finally says, his voice flat.

Brienne clears her throat and lifts her chin.  “Yes,” she says firmly.  “Mr. Lannister has asked me to look into the case on his behalf.”

“He doesn’t trust that we, respected members of the Gold Cloaks, can do our jobs?” Karl snaps.

“He hasn’t told me his opinion of the Gold Cloaks,” Brienne says briskly, “or given me his reasons for hiring an investigator.  I am simply here to do a job.”

“Well, we’re not giving you access to the case file of an active investigation when you’re working for the main suspect!”

“I don’t expect you to, but you can at least give me some information.”  She takes out a notebook and a pen and raises an eyebrow.

Morgan’s stoic expression softens slightly then he glances at Karl and shrugs.

“We’ll give you what we can,” Morgan says.

Brienne nods.  “What happened to Ms Peckledon?”

“She was strangled.  Judging from the bruises round her neck, some type of ligature was used—a ligature that was between one half to one inch wide.”

“Where was the body found?”

“In the living room of her apartment, in old King’s Landing.”

Brienne frowns.  “Address?”

Morgan gives her the address, then says, “You won’t be allowed inside.  Forensics is still combing through the place.”

“Who discovered the body?”

“Her roommate, Hildy Bracken, arrived home around ten a.m. and found her.”

Brienne nods as she scratches down the name.  “Was Jazz killed in the apartment?”

“It looks that way,” Karl says, “but Forensics hasn’t confirmed it yet.”

“Time of death?”

“The coroner at the scene estimates it was between 3:00 and 5:00 a.m. on Sunday morning.  That timeframe may change once the autopsy is completed.”

Brienne frowns as she makes a note.  “What do you know of Jazz’s movements before that?” she says.

Karl smirks.  “You say you’re a detective; go find out for yourself.”

*/*/*/*/*

“You _hired_ her?” Tyrion says flatly.  “Really.”

Jaime shrugs.  He’s sprawled on a couch in the lounge of his mansion.  “Do you want to leave it all up to the Gold Cloaks?”

“The Gold Cloaks are actually trained to do this sort of thing.  If there’s no evidence to link you to the crime…”

Jaime rolls his eyes.  “Are you really that naïve?”

Tyrion grimaces.  “No.”  He glances at Addam.  “Are promoters cancelling gigs already?”

Addam shrugs.  “More like sending cautious warnings that plans may fall through for ‘reasons’.  They’re not _saying_ it’s because Jaime is a person of interest in a murder investigation, but…”

“Well, you can’t blame them,” Jaime mutters, “if for no other reason than I might be in jail by the time the concert dates rolls round.”

“They’re idiots,” Tyrion growls.  “Every venue you’re booked at for the next four months is sold out.”

Jaime rolls his eyes.  “That’s not hard when the venues only hold a few thousand people.”

Tyrion strolls to the bar and starts mixing drinks.  “You hated playing those huge venues,” he says.

Jaime grimaces.  “I still do.”

“And you don’t really miss your Kingslayer days, do you?” Addam says.

Jaime winces.  “It was such a stupid nickname,” he mutters, “and Robert Baratheon’s the King of Rock and Roll now.  Why isn’t _he_ called the Kingslayer?”

Addam snorts and accepts a glass from Tyrion.  “Because he wasn’t the young and overly-handsome rocker who knocked Aerys Targaryen off the charts for the first time in decades.”

“I burned bright,” Jaime mutters, joining them at the bar, “and burned out fast.”

“Oh, gods,” Tyrion groans, “don’t start that shit again!  You’ve been in the spotlight for fifteen years!  Your royalty cheques are more than the income of some of the Free Cities!  The public loves you and your antics more than they love the royal family!”

Jaime rubs his hands over his face.  “And I haven’t had a new album in five years, and I haven’t had a record label for longer than that.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Mine.  I know.”  Jaime slumps over the bar.  “I’m just sick of singing the same old songs.”

“Well, you can change that, too,” Tyrion says.

“Assuming, of course, I can stay out of jail.”

“Well,” Addam says, “if you’re bored with music, I did receive a call asking if you’d be interested in doing a movie.”

Jaime scowls.  “A movie?”  He brightens.  “You mean do the soundtrack?”

“No, no—they wondered if you’d be interested in acting.”

“Acting?  I’m no actor!”

“As proven in your music videos,” Tyrion mutters and Jaime rolls his eyes.

“My _award-winning_ music videos,” he says. 

“It’s just a small, independent film,” Addam says.  “All they’re offering is a percentage of the profits on the back-end…if there are any profits, of course.  But I know the screenwriter.  Podrick Payne.  Nice kid.  There’s a short cameo role in the script, so that’s probably the part he has in mind for you.”  Addam shrugs.  “If you’re looking for something different…”

Jaime rolls his eyes.

“I’ll give you the script,” Addam says, resigned.  “That way I can at least tell the kid you’re looking at it, and let him down easy.”

“I just have a few other things on my mind,” Jaime says drily.

“Well, you’re not arrested yet,” Tyrion says briskly, “and your former record label isn’t willing to advance your next royalty payment now that this scandal has hit the news.”

“It’s not a _scandal_ , Tyrion,” Jaime mutters.  “A girl was murdered.  A real girl.”

Tyrion looks shame-faced for a moment.  “I know,” he mutters.  “Does she have a family, do you know?”

“I barely remember her,” Jaime sighs.  “I’m sure the news and the tabloids will have all the details of her life and family.”

“And you don’t want to read those stories?”

“Have either of you read them?”

Tyrion and Addam exchange a glance.

“A few,” Addam says, “but the stories I’ve read didn’t have much about her, yet.  They’ve all been salivating over the fact you’ve been named a person of interest in a murder case.”

Jaime sighs.  “Poor girl,” he says.  He shakes his head.  “She asked if I believed in soul mates,” he mutters, “and now it’s too late for her to find one.”  He glances at his friends, and says, “Remember:  we’re assholes, but we’re not jerks.  Let’s not forget that Jazz Peckledon was a real person.  Any statement we make to the media needs to keep her front and centre.  What happened to her shouldn’t be overshadowed by my celebrity.”

Tyrion snorts.  “Good luck with that,” he mutters.

“The media will do what the media does,” Jaime says.  “This is what _we’re_ going to do.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne inches her way through the varysazzi who are now camped out on the edges of the property rather than on the mansion’s doorstep.  The security personnel guarding the driveway glance in her window and wave her through.

She bursts into the mansion, calling for Nan and Nymeria.

The men also come out of the lounge as Nan and Nymeria meet her in the foyer.

“What are you so excited about?” Nymeria says.

Brienne glances round at everyone and gives them a grim smile.  “I need everybody’s eyes.”  She turns to Nymeria.  “Go get all the USB sticks from the night of the orgy.  They’re in my bedroom.”  Tyrion perks up and Brienne rolls her eyes.  “Don’t get too excited,” she orders, “we’re looking for your brother.”

Tyrion scrunches up his face.  “Ew.”

“The estimated time of death is between three and five on Sunday morning.  Nym had cameras everywhere in this house, thanks to the case we’re working.  We need to find any footage we can of Jaime, and see what time he arrived here—and whether he left again.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne gives up trying to keep Nymeria and Tyrion appropriately focused as they fast forward through the footage.  Brienne gives Jaime a scandalized look as the two begin whooping and making comments about the performance of a couple in one of the bedrooms.

Jaime shrugs.  “Did you really think I was the only one in the family like this?” he murmurs to her.

“I was hoping,” she mutters.

“Ah, sweet summer child…”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, then returns her attention to her own computer.

“Ah,” she says, leaning closer.

Jaime scoots next to her and peers at the computer screen, his head bent close to hers.

They watch in silence as the long black limousine pulls up to the front door and Jaime and Bronn get out, speak to each other, and then Bronn drives away.

Brienne stops the video and looks at the timestamp.

“Bingo,” she says.  “Two-thirty in the morning.”

“Too close to three for comfort,” Jaime mutters.

“But should be enough for reasonable doubt, especially if we can prove you didn’t leave again.”

“And assuming the clock in the camera is accurate.”

Brienne blinks at him.  “That, too.”

*/*/*/*/*

_“Well, thank the gods the party was being filmed,” Jaime says, and reaches over to grab the popcorn._

_Brienne scowls as she sets the generators to once again power up for the final experiment of the evening._

_“Can you at least tell me if Megastar Jaime participated in the orgy?”_

_Jaime coughs and offers her the popcorn.  “Why do you want to know?”_

_“So I’m at least prepared to see it on video even if poor PI Brienne isn’t.”_

*/*/*/*/*

_They munch on popcorn and make their notes, then, when the generators are back to full power, Jaime almost eagerly hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

To Brienne’s relief, Jaime’s time at the party is innocuous:  he arrived, wandered through the crowd—most of whom were too… _involved_ in other activities to notice that _The Jaime Lannister_ was in the room—then headed upstairs.  He opened doors until he found an empty bedroom and disappeared inside for the rest of the night, which was also captured on video.

“Getting old, big brother,” Tyrion says.

“Hey!  You can’t blame me for being too pooped to pop!  I’d been on a bender for days, after all!”

“I know.  You were incoherent every time we talked.”

Jaime frowns.  “We talked?”

Tyrion rolls his eyes.  “I’m not surprised you don’t remember.  You were pretty out of it.”

“If you knew he was in such bad shape, why didn’t you go down to Sunspear and get him?” Brienne asks.

“Oh, wipe that disapproving scowl off your face,” Tyrion says.  “We couldn’t _find_ the bastard.”

Jaime frowns.  “Bronn—”

“You ditched Bronn almost immediately.”  Tyrion pauses, frowning.  “Those cops said you were holed up in the penthouse suite for four days with Jazz Peckledon…but that can’t be quite accurate.  The hotel swore you weren’t there; Bronn went to the suite and it was empty except for empty liquor bottles strewn round the place.”

“Were there drugs involved?” Nymeria asks.

“Well, that might explain the complete blackout,” Jaime says, “but if there were, it wouldn’t be by my conscious choice.  Alcohol is my preference; I’ve always avoided everything else.”

The three women raise skeptical eyebrows.

Jaime laughs.  “Look, even at seventeen, when I first hit it big, I knew that starting down that road would destroy me before I even got started.  I like to party, I like to drink, but I’m not an alcoholic.  Ask anybody I’ve ever worked with: a bender of this magnitude is rare, despite what the tabloids and gossip sites would have you believe.”

“You mean you’re not as wild as people think you are?” Nymeria says, disappointed.

Jaime shrugs.  “People believe what they want to believe.”  His sudden grin is wicked.  “And they’re not _completely_ wrong.”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “While this is fascinating,” she says primly, “we need to get this footage to the Gold Cloaks.”

Jaime nods and turns his wicked grin on her.  “Look at you,” he says.  “Your first murder investigation, and you’ve cleared me in less than a day.”

“But I haven’t solved the murder,” she says, “and that’s what I promised to do.”

She flushes as everyone looks at her in disbelief.

“I take my promises seriously,” she mutters, and looks away.

*/*/*/*/*

Morgan and Karl are skeptical, and it takes a lot of explaining before they let the subject go.  Brienne suspects it was Nymeria’s not-so-subtle flirting with Karl that helped to sell that man on the truth of the story.  Morgan and Nan seem to be eyeing each other with a similar degree of interest.

Brienne hides a sigh then tells herself that at least they get things done.

*/*/*/*/*

The Chief of the Gold Cloaks makes a public statement the next day, clearing Jaime Lannister as a suspect in the murder of Pia ‘Jazz’ Peckledon.  Brienne and Nymeria find the money shot they needed for their previous client, and Brienne delivers the snippet of video and takes her payment with a feeling of relieved distaste.

Jaime holds an impromptu press conference with the varysazzi and reporters still camped across from his house, and publicly names Brienne Tarth as the private investigator who discovered the evidence that cleared him of suspicion.  He carefully doesn’t mention it was because Nymeria was recording a party-turned-orgy.  There really were a lot of rich and powerful people there that night, some of whom would be extremely unhappy to learn there may be incriminating video of their activities.

Brienne misses the press conference; she has a catering job and she and Nan are in the kitchen, and then at the party, serving the food.  It’s late when they finally return to the mansion and she gratefully crawls into bed to sleep.

*/*/*/*/*

“Brienne.”

Brienne grunts and pulls the blankets over her head.

“Brienne!”

“Nym,” she mumbles without emerging from her comfortable cocoon, “the house better be on fire.”

“Better than that.  We have an appointment this morning with a potential client.  Lyanna Baratheon’s diamond necklace was stolen a few days ago and she wants to hire you to find out who did it.”

Brienne flips the blanket down and blinks blearily at her friend.  “Lyanna Baratheon?  How does she even know me?”

Nymeria rolls her eyes.  “You really need to understand the power of celebrity,” she says.  “Jaime named you as the person who cleared him.  The phone’s been ringing non-stop ever since.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime looks up as Brienne walks into the living room that evening.

“Busy woman,” he says with a lazy smile.

Brienne nods.  “I…we have three new clients and appointments later this week with several other potential clients.”  She looks at him with dazed, really quite lovely eyes.  “Why did you mention my name in your news conference?”

Jaime shrugs.  “I try to give credit where credit is due, Legs.  You cleared me as a suspect, even if it was sheer luck that Nymeria was here and recording that party.”  He stands and strolls to the door.  “Still.  Luck or not, I owed you one…and a Lannister always pays his debts.”

*/*/*/*/*

_“Well,” Brienne says with surprise, “that ended well.”_

_Jaime grins.  “So it did.”_

_He stands and stretches, then sits again to help Brienne begin the process of powering down the Wall._

_“It’s not going to be like that tomorrow,” Brienne quietly says._

_Jaime pauses, giving her a searching look, then he nods._

_“I know.  But we don’t have to go back to those universes if things get really bad.”_

_Brienne bites her lip, and he knows she’s thinking of the effects that would have on the integrity of the data they’ve already gathered as a result of these experiments._

_He puts his hand on hers, startling her._

_“Listen to me, Junior,” he says and she blinks at him.  He leans closer, and says, slowly and firmly, “We don’t have to continue with those universes if things get really bad.  We can find other universes, or start the experiments again if we need to.”  He stares intently at her.  “Okay?”_

_Brienne nibbles at her bottom lip and nods._

*/*/*/*/*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Morgan and Karl are named after the actors I’ve cast in their parts:  Morgan Freeman and Karl Urban.  Technically, they’re original characters, but a search of A Wiki of Ice and Fire has revealed the following two characters:
> 
> “Morgan is a guard of House Baratheon of Dragonstone and a queen's man. He is a hopeless drunkard.”
> 
> “Karl, dubbed Clubfoot Karl, is a steward  of the Night's Watch.”
> 
> It’s cheating to say Morgan and Karl are characters in canon…but I’ll take it.  ;P


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   Here be canon-compliant coarse language and…attitudes, I guess you can call it.  PTSD type moments.  Jaime/Cersei…sorta.  Oh, and sex.  I don’t consider it smut, but it’s definitely more than fade-to-black.  This is a dark universe, so please read responsibly.

 

*/*/*/*/*

_The next evening, Jaime and Brienne are quiet as they wait for the Wall’s generators to reach full power._

_Their day had been routine:  their usual work out, then breakfast, then reconvening in Jaime's suite for data analysis and arguments over equations and theories.  They studiously avoided any discussion about everything they experienced the night before or about the two universes still to be re-visited._

_The Prince and Princess, then the Mad Jon universe.  Jaime grimaces.  Both universes will have their share of difficulties._

_Jaime glances at the power level of the generators then reaches for his backpack.  He digs into it and pulls out the bottle of Northern whiskey he had taken from the Lannister private jet, and sets it with a decided thump on the top of the desk._

_“Jaime,” Brienne scolds.  “There’s no drinking allowed in here.”_

_“These are unusual circumstances,” Jaime says firmly as he pulls out two shot glasses.  He glances at her and shrugs as he puts the glasses beside the bottle.  “Only if we need it.”_

_Brienne opens her mouth then closes it again, and Jaime knows she’s remembering what these last two universes are like._

_“All right,” she says grudgingly._

_The computer pings to indicate the generators have reached full power._

_Their eyes widen then they glance at the bottle before looking back at each other._

_“You good?” Jaime says._

_Brienne hesitates then nods.  “I’m good,” she says and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Cersei flies to him as soon as he closes the door.

"Jaime," she pleads, her hands clutching at his shoulders, his arms, his neck, "you _must_ convince Father to let me stay here!  That _fool_ he married me to is already out of his sick bed and bleating once more about returning north!"

Jaime gently sets her away from him. "The bedding was not to your liking, sweet sister?"

She slaps him, her palm stinging across his cheek.

"Don't be an ass," she snaps.  "You know I took steps to ensure there would be no bedding!"  She softens.  "You know I cannot stomach anyone but you in my arms," she says, as prettily as any maid.

"Is that why you tried to kill the King of the North while he was at his own wedding feast, sitting at the Lannister table?  Is that why you tried to kill my new bride _at the same time?_   Do you _want_ this hellish war to continue forever?"

Cersei's beautiful face twists, becomes something ugly.  "Someone had to do something, and _you_ were doing nothing—as usual!  We are not cattle, Jaime, to be bought and sold to the highest bidder!"

"We have been bought and sold to ensure peace!  If I hadn't ordered King Eddard to be purged—and if Princess Brienne had finished her wine—we would both be in the black cells right now!"

"Father would never allow it!"

" _Father wants peace!_   Just like I do!  Just like King Eddard and King Selwyn!  Just like Princess Brienne and the high-borns who sit in our Great Hall; just like the girl who washes your sheets and the boy who shovels the shit from our stables!  Just like _everyone except you_ , it seems!  If you had succeeded in your plan, Father would have executed us both, married the first girl he was offered, and replaced us with children who would be less painfully _stupid_!"  He grabs Cersei's shoulders, and gives her a single, hard shake.  "For the love of the Seven," he growls, "use what little mind the gods gave you!  Let the King live!  Go North as Queen!  Whelp him a cub or two, and _then_ rid yourself of him if it pleases you so much!"

He releases her with contemptuous shove.

"And what of you, sweet brother?"  Cersei's eyes are cold, her lips sneering.  "Will you rid yourself of that cow you've married once she's borne a litter or two of _your_ cubs?  Is that… _creature…_ really who you wish to have as your Queen?  As the mother of your children?"

Jaime steps closer, overshadowing his twin with his height and bulk. "Princess Brienne is my wife," he growls, "which means she’s mine to do with as I please.  _Mine!_   I took steps to ensure she blames me and not you for what happened, but you overstepped yourself last night, Cersei.  Do not do it again."

Cersei does not back away.  "Watch your words with me, Jaime," she purrs.  “Remember who I am and what I've done.  Remember to whom you belong.  Remember who is your rightful Queen.”

There's a deadness in her eyes that causes a shiver to go down his spine.

He straightens and takes a step away.  There’s an almost sadistic triumph on his sister’s face and it takes all his willpower not to clench his hands into fists.  He takes a deep breath and wonders again how one can so love someone and yet so hate them at the same time. 

He wonders how he could have been so blind for so long.

"The carriage is waiting for you," he grates out and turns away.  "Dress warmly; I would hate to hear you caught a chill on the way North."

*/*/*/*/*

Cersei’s been gone several days when Jaime goes in search of Brienne and finds her in the frozen mud of the training yard, sparring with Sandor Clegane.  Clegane is skilled, larger than Brienne and strong with it, but Brienne is faster, quicker and simply _better_ , and Jaime can't help granting her a grudging respect and admiration for the same strength and skill he had once cursed while on a bloody battlefield.

He lurks in the shadows of the armory until Brienne finally disarms Clegane and they remove their helms.  Brienne is grinning and even Sandor has something on his face that might be considered a smile as Brienne claps a hand on his shoulder.

"Good contest, ser," she says, trying to catch her breath, sweat leaving her straw-like hair plastered to her forehead and against her neck.

"Someday I shall win, Lord Commander," Clegane rumbles.

Brienne laughs and Jaime's eyes narrow at the sound.  He thought the woman didn't know how to laugh.

"I have no doubt you will," Brienne says, her grin making the jagged, thin scar across her left cheek twist and dance.  "Nobody wins every battle."

Jaime's eyes narrow even more when he realizes Sandor Clegane— _Sandor Clegane—_ is, yes, actually grinning as he says, "Until tomorrow, then, Lord Commander?"

"Aye," she says, "until tomorrow."

They turn towards the armory and both stop short when Jaime steps from the doorway into the training yard.  Their grins freeze then fade.  Jaime's eyes flick from a wary Brienne to a now stone-faced Sandor and back to her.

"I wondered where you were off to in such a hurry this morning, Your Grace," Jaime says, his voice silky smooth.

Brienne raises an eyebrow.  "If you would listen to me when I speak, Your Grace, you would know I always make my way here after breakfast.”

Jaime's eyes are cold as he turns his attention to Clegane.  "Are you my wife's preferred sparring partner, ser?"

"Aye," Clegane rumbles.  "I'm one of the few who are strong enough for her.  _Your Grace_."

Jaime's eyes narrow at the man's insolence before he dismisses him with a sharp movement of his head.

Jaime's ire grows when instead of immediately leaving them, Clegane gives Brienne a searching look.  She gives him a small nod.  Clegane flicks a contemptuous glare over him then offers them a scant bow and strides away.

Jaime waits until Clegane is out of earshot before he turns to Brienne.

"Have you found the man you will use to cuckold me?"

Her jaw drops, then her eyes spark with rage.  “You have already dishonored your vows to me in this marriage, Your Grace.”

"I have since given you my word—"

"Your word," Brienne snorts and stomps past him.  "Your word will evaporate like snow in the spring once you see... _her_ again.  The only hope you have of keeping your word to me is to keep away from _her_ until I've given you the heirs I've promised you."

"And if you don't?"

She spins and glares and for a moment Jaime wonders if she's going to try to kill him with the tourney sword in her hand.  From the look on her face, she'd likely succeed.

"Why did you seek me out, Jaime?" she almost spits.

"We have received visitors from Dorne.  Prince Oberyn Martell, his consort, Ellaria Sand, and his niece, Princess Arianne Martell, have arrived to pay their respects upon news of our marriage."

Brienne's glare turns to dismay.  "Wonderful," she groans.

*/*/*/*/*

Oberyn Martell and his consort ooze sexuality, and Jaime's not certain if he's more uncomfortable with the way they look at Princess Brienne, the way they look at him, or the way they look at the two of them together.  Mayhaps he should advise Princess Brienne to put extra fortifications against her door while the Prince and Ellaria are in King's Landing.

He again notices Oberyn's and Ellaria's interested stares in his direction.

Mayhaps he should do the same.

Prince Oberyn and his consort, along with his niece, Arianne, have been paying court for several days; have said all the right words of congratulations, and have even expressed blatantly false regret at arriving too late to also extend their best wishes to King Eddard and his new Queen.  Considering Prince Oberyn had once vowed to kill Queen Cersei with his bare hands the moment he again laid eyes on her, Jaime is reluctantly impressed with the man's acting—and his self-control. 

For a moment, Jaime sees, once again, poor Elia Martell's features twisted in agony even in death.  Her murder and Cersei's subsequent marriage to the last of the Targaryens are some of what led to the longest and bloodiest war in Westeros history.

Not to mention Rhaegar's sudden, inexplicable passion for Lyanna Stark that took everyone by surprise.  Who knew such a milksop of a man even knew what passion was?

Jaime sips his wine and wonders if King Eddard has taken his words of caution to heart and employed a food-taster.  More fool him, if he has not. Although mayhaps the King in the North will need to be more wary of the contingent of Lannister men, led by Ser Gregor Clegane, who were sent as a gift to the Queen.

He watches as Prince Oberyn turns his attentions to Princess Brienne and reduces her to an embarrassed, tongue-tied lump within one, no doubt witty, turn of phrase.  Although—Jaime’s eyes narrow—there seems to be a glimmer of amusement on Brienne’s blazing red face.

Brienne’s eyes flick to him and she freezes, like a rabbit in front of a snake.  She truly has beautiful eyes, he thinks, but they're blue, not the green he has sworn so many times to love until his death.  He helped send Cersei away; he wonders if that frees him from that promise.  He wonders what would happen if he were to beg the High Septon for his counsel on the matter. 

He can’t quite stop the bitter twist to his lips at the thought.

So many stains on his soul, so many things he’s done…so many things he failed to do, all in the name of love.  He’d be lucky if the High Septon simply removed his head without torturing him first.

And despite it all, he thinks as he continues to hold Brienne’s gaze, a part of him still loves his sweet sister.  Still yearns for her, for the girl she was, for the girl he had believed her to be.

He was relieved to see Cersei go but Brienne is right:  he would never be able to resist his sweet sister if she were here.  He knows he needs must bed his bride, but Cersei is not yet far enough away.

There shall be no bedding tonight, he thinks, his expression growing cold as he stares at his wife.  Brienne's eyes widen and he's shamed that he cannot be kinder to her.  Then he's angry because he's ashamed and he abruptly turns his face away.

He does not look at her again.

*/*/*/*/*

_“Prince Jaime is an asshole,” Brienne says flatly.  “Why was he glaring at me—her—like that?”_

_Jaime hesitates.  "He can't help who he loves," he finally says and winces at how weak his words sound._

_"Does he have to be so cruel?"_

_Jaime sighs.  "It's complicated."_

_She rolls her eyes.  "It's always complicated," she growls._

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne is still simmering with anger by the time the generators have returned to full power._

_“Need a drink?” Jaime asks as they settle back into their chairs._

_She glares._

_“No.  Do you?”_

_He raises an eyebrow.  “Not yet,” he says and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

"Where are your ladies-in-waiting?" King Selwyn says.

Brienne glances up from the book she is reading and blinks at his question.

He is slouched in his chair, a flagon of mead at his elbow.  He says he has not yet grown so used to his royal status as to forego mead for wine at all times.  His eyes, so like her own, are watching her with shrewd intelligence.

"I don't need ladies-in-waiting," she says, lowering the book.  "I'm no lady."

Selwyn grunts something that might have been amusement.  "You may not be a lady, but you are a Princess, and the next Queen of an eventually reunited southron Westeros.  King Tywin will not live forever—nor shall I.  I will also be leaving for Tarth in the next few days and you will be alone here, with the Lannisters.  You needs must begin to surround yourself with a court you can trust...or at least one you understand how to manipulate.”

Brienne stares at him in horror.  “I have no desire to play such games, Father!”

“You have no choice, child.  You either learn to play the game or the game plays you.  You are going to be Queen and you do not have the choice to pretend you can ignore it all.”

*/*/*/*/*

King Selwyn departs for the Stormlands several days later.  His formal leave-taking takes place in the Great Hall, with all the pomp and circumstance befitting a King.

Brienne takes her private leave of him in the blustery cold of the Red Keep’s courtyard.  King Selwyn throws off his royal mien to wrap his arms round Brienne and hug her as tightly as he can.  It is odd, she thinks, burrowing against him.  He is a head shorter than she is, yet when he hugs her like this, she is naught but a small girl who still believes her father is powerful enough to stand against the entire world.

He releases her and she notes with surprise that he has tears in his eyes.  He blinks rapidly, and clears his throat.

“You are the only child the gods granted me with my beloved wife, your beautiful mother,” he says, his voice gruff.  “You have my eyes and my unfortunate teeth.” He grins, showing off his crooked teeth, and she laughs.  “You may have taken after me in those respects, but you have your mother's look, and—warrior or no; Lord Commander or no—you have her gentle soul and soft heart.  You are my only child, and I could not bear to see you perish on the battlefield, which is the only reason I agreed to the terms of this truce.”  He reaches up and cups her cheek, his thumb gently tracing the scar left by a sword in some battle or other.  “Whether you will win your war with the child-bed when your time comes, well.  That is up to the gods.  But I have more hope you shall survive that than if we had continued that blasted, useless war.”

Selwyn turns as Jaime strolls up to them to more personally wish his good-father a safe journey.

“This is my only child,” Selwyn says when Jaime finishes speaking.  Selwyn’s voice is once again turning gruff, his eyes boring into Jaime.  “I leave her in your care.  I leave her under your protection.”

“Father,” Brienne says, gently, blinking away the moisture in her eyes, “look at me.  I need no man's protection.”

“I shall beg it from my good-son anyway.”

Jaime bows, deeply.  “You have my word,” he says.

And with that, King Selwyn Tarth hugs her one last time, then mounts his horse and rides out of the Red Keep.

*/*/*/*/*

In the days that follow, in between entertaining—or mayhaps fending off—the emissaries from Dorne, Brienne worries at her father's words regarding her ladies-in-waiting.  Whether she likes it or no, he's right.  While she will never be the Queen the smallfolk expected or wanted, she has a duty to be a good Queen, nonetheless, and one way to do that is to strengthen her family’s alliances with the highborn families loyal to the southron Throne.

Besides, worrying on who should be the first to be invited into her inner circle distracts her from worrying on her marriage.  She and Jaime have yet to consummate their union, but she's more than willing to delay it for as long as she can.  Jaime is a beautiful man—Brienne cannot deny that—and she knows that other women find pleasure in the marriage bed.  But for an unnatural woman like her—over-large and ugly and mannish…

Brienne is no stranger to pain:  she has been slashed by swords, broken her bones, been trapped beneath the heavy weight of her dying war horse.  She sometimes wakes, screaming, with the smell of blood in her nostrils and the shrieks of the wounded in her ears…yet she still cringes away from what she will face in the marriage bed.  Septa Roelle has always taught her the pain a woman like Brienne experiences is worse than the worst pain anyone could imagine.  If only Brienne was a different kind of woman, Septa Roelle would say, and heave a mournful sigh, tears standing in her eyes.

Brienne clings to her only glimmer of hope:  that she will be lucky enough to fall pregnant immediately and therefore escape the agony of the marriage bed within a few years. 

Assuming a woman such as her can fall pregnant at all.

But those are worries for another day, she thinks grimly.  She, unfortunately, needs to gather a court of ladies round her.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne carefully considers the surviving high-born families and their daughters for several days, then reluctantly decides she needs must approach Jaime for his counsel.  It's not that she trusts him, or that the tension between them has eased to any great degree. 

She simply has no one else she can ask for advice.

She invites him to ride with her outside the city walls, and she suspects he agrees out of pure surprise.

“Ladies-in-waiting?” he says, his brows wrinkling in confusion once she explains her dilemma.

“Since my skills as a warrior and Lord Commander are no longer as needed, I needs must build my relationships with the Houses outside the Stormlands.”

“And you have asked me to ride with you because...?”

“What Houses do we need to soothe, Your Grace?  What Houses do we need to subtly threaten?  I am more used to solving my problems with a sword and an army, but now it appears my fate is to learn to use a woman’s weapons in order to strengthen our children’s hold on the southron Throne.”

There’s a flash of amusement on Jaime’s face at Brienne’s disgruntled demeanor and tone, and she can’t help but smile a little in response.  She knows she’s being ridiculous.

“I have no one else to advise me, Your Grace,” she says, “and my role is to support you as much as it is to support our children.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “Is that now part of our bargain?” he says drily.

Brienne gives him a haughty glare.  “It was the bargain we made when we spoke our vows in the Great Sept,” she says, then softens.  “I am as sick of war as anyone.”

They ride in surprisingly comfortable silence for long minutes and Brienne starts to relax. She even cautiously allows her hopes to rise that this union may actually grow to be...cordial.  She is no beauty, though men and women call her so with mocking faces, but she does have other strengths to bring to the marriage.

"I am a strong Lord Commander," she says abruptly and Jaime startles a little and turns a surprised face in her direction.  She continues, "I bring the second largest army on the continent at my back and upon my father's death—may it be long in the future—his bannermen will swear fealty to me."

Jaime's usually stern mouth twitches towards a smile.  "I, too, am a strong Lord Commander.  I bring the largest army on the continent at my back and upon my father's death—may it be long in the future—I shall be King.  Your bannermen will swear fealty to me instead."

Brienne clamps down on her urge to knock him from his horse with one swoop of her arm.  It would do him good if his arrogant arse were to land in the mud.

She grits her teeth, and says, "The North has always been friendly with the Stormlands, as has Dorne."

"I have the Reach, the Westerlands, the Crownlands and the Riverlands," he says, bored, and she eyes him suspiciously.  He sounds almost too bored.

"I do not have the Ironborn," she slowly says.

"Nor I," he says.

"Nor do I want them," they say together and then stop and share a cautiously amused glance.

Brienne's shoulders relax a little more.

"You seem determined to expand upon the dowry your father bestowed upon you," Jaime says.

Brienne says, "Despite the unfortunate beginnings of our union and the threats we've made on either side—"

"Are you including my drugging you and tying you naked to the bed with the 'unfortunate beginnings', or with the 'threats'?"

She flushes a deep, dark red.  "The threats, of course," she says stiffly.

"Of course."  He glances away, his mouth quirking again into a smile.  "So despite the recent past...?"

She clears her throat.  "Yes.  Despite the recent past, I want our marriage to be...tolerable.  For both of us.  And I do bring strengths to the union that I think benefit the realm once our two Kingdoms merge together."

"Ah," he says softly, "therefore the army, bannermen, and allegiances with other Kingdoms."

She nods and looks away, feeling foolish.  It's nothing, after all, that he didn't already know.

They ride again in silence and then Jaime says, "They are not small, these strengths you cite, and I have not been as kind to you as mayhaps you deserve."

She blinks surprised eyes at him.

"You are very young, are you not?" he continues.

"I have seen twenty-three years, Your Grace," she says defensively, "and the last three have been leading men in battle.  I am not as young as all that!"

He chuckles, soft and low.  There seems to be no mockery in it although it sounds rusty and seems to surprise even him.  "I am thirty-six, Your Grace," and now there is mockery in the title, "and have been on the battlefield since I was sixteen.  That's twenty years.  Almost longer than you've been alive.  You are practically a child."

Brienne frowns, then blurts out, "How is it you have not wed earlier?"

Jaime shrugs.  "Cersei," he says simply, and something inside her shrivels.  "While I am now willing to do my duty whenever you wish to invite me into your bed, you will be the first woman I have touched other than Cersei.  In my youth, I was even more single-minded in my devotion to her.  And..." he trails off, scowling.

Brienne rides in silence, waiting, until finally Jaime sighs.

"I have been betrothed thrice before,” he says.

Brienne gives him a startled look. "Oh?"

"Let us just say that I have been...unlucky."

She frowns.  "Did they, too, learn of Cersei and break the betrothals?"

"All died before we could be wed," he says flatly.

"Oh," she says again, then, "oh.  I'm sorry."

"As was I," Jaime sighs.  "Melara was a pretty little thing, delicate and biddable.  She would have been a lovely wife although whether she would have survived the child-bed…well.  It never came to that.  Lysa was also a lovely girl, shy and quiet, but with red hair that promised fire beneath the placid surface.  Margaery was but a child, sixteen and pretty and sweet, but with her grandmother's iron will, I think, well-hidden from prying eyes."

"'Tis a pity none lived long enough to wed you and mayhaps give you the heir your father desires."

"The heir I also desire, Your Grace.  Do not think it matters naught to me."

She swallows heavily.  "I don't," she says softly.

"Good.  The true strength you bring to this union, Brienne, is whatever strength hides in your belly.  I need strong, healthy sons.  Legitimate heirs.  That is what the realm needs, not your armies or your allegiances."

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne scowls at Jaime._

_"Seriously,” she says, “Prince Jaime is an enormous asshole."_

_Jaime blinks.  "He's also right."_

_"Still an asshole," she growls, and stomps from the control room._

*/*/*/*/*

_She returns with coffee and they silently make their notes until the computer pings, letting them know the generators have reached full power._

_They put down their pens and exchange a look._

_“Ready?” Brienne says with a resigned sigh._

_“Ready,” he says, and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne sends ravens to a small cadre of highborn women, inviting them to court, and a moon after their arrival, Prince Oberyn and Ellaria announce they will be returning to Dorne.  Princess Arianne, to Brienne’s surprise, prettily begs to stay for a while longer, and Oberyn agrees.  Two days later, Oberyn and Ellaria leave King’s Landing with many protestations of regret and gratitude.

Brienne stands by Jaime’s side as their guests depart.

Princess Arianne turns to her.  “I love my uncle,” she says, “but he is a bit overpowering, is he not?”

Brienne blinks.  “The Prince is very charming,” she says.

“But not as charming as _your_ prince,” Arianne says, giving Jaime a knowing, teasing smile.

Brienne blushes and Arianne laughs.

“Would you like to join me for a ride, Your Grace?” Arianne says and glances from Jaime to Brienne and back again.  “Either of Your Graces,” she says and now her smile is wicked.

Jaime’s eyebrow rises while Brienne’s stomach drops.

“Yes,” she says, too loudly, and clears her throat.  “Yes, I would love to go for a ride.  But I wish to have a private word with my husband before we go.”

“Of course,” Arianne says.  “Shall we meet at the stables?”

Brienne nods.

They watch the lovely young woman disappear in the direction of the stables, then Jaime says, “What did you wish to speak on?”

Brienne jumps a little and wonders what madness has gripped her.  But she cannot deny it’s time.

She straightens her shoulders and turns to face him.

“We have been married for two moons,” she says.

“I know.”

She scowls then says, “We have made a bargain.  You have upheld your end of it, so far.  The sooner we…”  She stops, swallowing heavily, her face flaming as she looks despairingly in the direction Arianne had disappeared.  She clears her throat again and says, “The sooner we…we…”

“Fuck?” Jaime drawls.

Brienne feels as if the skin of her face is actually on fire.  “Yes,” she says.  “The sooner we…do that, the sooner our bargain will be complete and you will be free to…to…do as you will.”  She can’t help but glance after Arianne again before meeting his gaze.

Jaime’s eyes are filled with unholy amusement.  “Are you inviting me into your bed, Brienne?” he purrs.

“When you are ready to join me in my bed, Your Grace, I will not say no.”

*/*/*/*/*

That night, Brienne's beneath her blankets, reaching to extinguish the lantern, when Jaime opens their connecting door and steps into the room, startling her.

She freezes when she sees him and thinks he somehow still manages to look magnificent even when clad in an ostentatious brocade bed-robe embroidered with fanciful lions and suns.

She gapes and he smirks.

"You promised to do your duty," he purrs as he prowls towards the bed.

She gulps, all the horrible warnings Septa Roelle had given her crowding into her brain, and she has a sudden urge to leap from the bed and run for her life.

But she is a Lord Commander, she tells herself staunchly.  She has crossed swords with this very man on a bloody battlefield.  Surely the womanly pain that is to be her lot in the bedchamber cannot be worse than the bite of a sword or the blow from a mailed hand.

And she is not craven.  She will... _endure_.

She nods.  "Yes, Your Grace," she says and Jaime barks a harsh, cruel laugh and shrugs out of his robe.

She gulps at the sight of his naked body, at the sight of his cock, jutting from his body.

She had been a Lord Commander of an army for three years; the naked male body is no longer a surprise to her—but she's never been this close to a naked man, let alone one as well-formed as Jaime.  He's slightly shorter than she is, but he's broad of shoulder, slim in the hips, with a well-defined chest and torso, and arms that ripple with muscle with every movement as he pulls back the blanket and slides onto the bed beside her.

She gulps again as he laughs at her wide, terrified eyes and she quickly smooths her expression, lays flat on her back and waits, her eyes fixed on the ceiling above her and her hands clenched into fists by her side.

After a long moment where neither of them move, she remembers what some knight had told her years ago, and says, "Will this work better if I douse the lantern?"

"I don't know, Brienne," Jaime says, "will it?"

She risks a look at him and finds him watching her with an almost baffled rueful expression.

"Yes?" she says.  "You—you wouldn't have to see my face, then, and I've been told all women are the same in the dark."

"I find that difficult to believe," he says drily and she flushes as she remembers Cersei's ample breasts as compared to her own small mounds of flesh.  She will never be mistaken for a beautiful woman, not even in the dark.

Still...better the dark; it will hide her tears if she finds the pain unbearable.

She surges up and quickly blows out the lantern, plunging the room into semi-darkness, lit only by the banked fire in the hearth.

She lays back down, fixes her eyes once more upon the ceiling and says, "I'm ready."

His chuckle is low and husky and wisps across her nerve endings, making her tremble.  "You are far from ready," he purrs and then he's looming over her and before she realizes what he intends, he's kissing her.

She hadn't expected kissing and she startles at the touch of his mouth against hers.  He tangles his fingers in her hair to hold her still and then his mouth is hard and demanding against hers, and the first touch of his tongue against her lips makes her gasp.  He takes advantage of her surprise to plunder her mouth and she's frozen with shock.

He lifts his head and even in the semi-darkness, he's beautiful as he glares down at her, his eyes glittering.

"Have you never been kissed?" he growls.

"I—Ser Owen Inchfield stole a kiss once," she stammers.  “I pushed him into the campfire."

Jaime's teeth flash in a grin.  "It must not have been a very good kiss," he says.

"It was meant in cruel jest," she says flatly.

"This may be cruel in that this is something neither of us wished to do, but this is not a jest.  You are my wife, my future Queen, and I must bed you."

"I know.  I said I'm ready."

"Mayhaps, but I wish to ready you for my cock, not just for doing your duty."

She blushes and scowls.  "I don't understand."

Jaime sighs and gives her a surprisingly gentle kiss.  "I know," he says.  "The first bedding is the worst, so I'm told, but I will do my best to make it as easy for you as possible."

"Pain in the marriage bed is the lot in life for a woman like me," Brienne intones, reciting the lessons Septa Roelle had given her.  "I shall endure."

He rears back at that, scowling, then he shakes his head.  "We've spent too much time talking already," he sighs and kisses her again.

What follows is confusing and revelatory.  Jaime kicks off the blankets and tugs her nightclothes from her body, leaving her as bare as he is.  It’s only the darkness of the room that allows her to retain some semblance of dignity.  She finds the kissing rather...nice, once she gets used to it, only to be shocked again when his hand cups her meagre breast and his fingers play with her nipple.  But that's not as surprising as when he puts his mouth over her other nipple and suckles.  She arches against him then apologizes only to have him laugh and kiss her to stop her words before he returns to her breast.

She's only just getting used to such attentions when he slides his flattened hand down her torso, over her stomach, to tangle his fingers in the thick hair at the juncture of her thighs, before moving even lower.

She yelps and pushes him away.

"You're not supposed to—what are you _doing_?"

"I'm making you ready for me," he says, infuriatingly calm.

"I don't understand!" she almost wails.  "Just...just get it over with!"

"I will—but you have to let me do what I need to do."

She's thrumming with tension.  She wants to punch him; she wants to run away.  But she gave her word; she told him she would accept him whenever he joined her in her bed. 

She reluctantly lays back down, and he laughs.

She flinches when his fingers go once again to the juncture of her thighs and she pulls in a sharp, hissing breath as his fingers explore those secret parts of her that only she has ever touched and even then, only with a wash cloth firmly between her fingers and her flesh.

She's taut; rigid as a sword and embarrassed by the liquid she can feel beginning to gather between her thighs, easing the glide of his fingers against her.

"Do you like this?" he asks, his voice rough and husky.  "What I’m doing?"

What an odd question, she thinks, and then he carefully pushes a finger inside her and she flinches.

"Brienne?  I need you to tell me if I'm hurting you."

"Pain is inevitable," she mutters.  "Septa Roelle told me all about what a woman like me can expect in the marriage bed."

His fingers stop moving and she sees he's frowning down at her.

"Mayhaps you're right," he says slowly.  "Mayhaps we need to get this first bedding done as quickly as possible so your maidenly fears can be put to rest."

Before she can reply, he's kissing her again and his fingers are stroking between her thighs more urgently, and to her surprised relief, she finds that none of this is unpleasant.  It’s mayhaps even enjoyable, although the liquid that is continuing to pool between her legs is embarrassing her. 

She freezes again when Jaime moves over her, positioning himself between her thighs.  She feels the blunt head of his cock at her entrance and she tenses even more as he slowly pushes his way inside.

There's a brief moment of pressure as he enters her but any pain is fleeting and then he stills. She frowns up at him, feeling...full...but she is not in pain.  She wonders when the agony Septa Roelle had promised she’d experience is supposed to begin.

Then Jaime begins to move, and this, at least, she understands from seeing her soldiers with their camp followers, and from the animals she's seen rutting.

Jaime lifts her legs round his waist, and then he's thrusting against her with a steady rhythm and this, too, is...nice.  Certainly not painful and actually...well... _nice_.  She rather likes the heavy feel of Jaime's body on hers as he rocks against her.  His thrusts speed up and she finds herself lifting her own hips to meet him and hopes he doesn't mind.  He speeds up even more and then he's frantic as he works against her, his rhythm broken, until he thrusts one last time and freezes, shuddering against her, gasping, before he slowly relaxes on top of her.

She frowns up at the ceiling as his weight presses her into the mattress.  She realizes her hands are clutching at the sheet beneath her and she relaxes, straightening her fingers.  She's not sure what she's supposed to do with herself while Jaime is catching his breath, so she stays as still as possible and tries to make sense of what she has experienced.

She will have much to think on when he leaves her bed.

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne turns to stare at Jaime, blushes a shade of red he has not yet seen, then gabbles what might have been an apology before she bolts from the room._

_Jaime lets her go, feeling a flush on his own cheeks, but whether it’s from embarrassment or arousal is difficult to say.  His cock is hard and straining against his jeans, and he groans and covers his face with his hands._

_He'd been worried about dying while connected to his counterpart in another universe.  He hadn't thought about how his body would react to his counterpart fucking someone.  Fucking Brienne, because he sure as shit hadn’t reacted like this when Prince Jaime fucked Cersei!_

_This..._

_He groans as he shifts on his chair._

_ This _ _is a complication._

*/*/*/*/*


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   This is, as you know, another dark universe.  Non-graphic descriptions/discussions of violence, blood, rape/attempted rape, child death; mention of suicide and just...horrible things in general.  Canon-compliant coarse language.  Sexual content which isn’t even close to being smut, but is a bit more than fade-to-black.
> 
> **A/N1:**   This chapter was SUCH a BEAR.  Where’s my Jaime to leap to my rescue when I need him??
> 
> **A/N2:**   For those who are wondering, we’re half-way through the story—literally.  There are currently thirteen chapters to go, however, I might split some chapters up when I get to them or add a couple new ones in….we’ll see….

***/*/*/*/***

_Jaime’s body has thankfully calmed by the time Brienne sidles back into the control room.  She’s still flushed and she gives him one lightning glance before looking everywhere than at him.  She scuttles to her chair and scoots it several inches further away from him._

_He clears his throat.  “The generators reached full power about ten minutes ago,” he mutters, easing his own chair away from hers._

_She gives a short nod, her hands busy with her notepad and pen, her coffee cup and the keyboard._

_Jaime sighs—loudly—and she jumps, risking another glance at him._

_“It wasn't us,” he says as he reaches for the whiskey and the two shot glasses._

_“I know,” she mutters._

_“Still...embarrassing, right?” he says._

_That gets her to roll her eyes at him.  “Ya think?”_

_He smirks as he fills each shot glass, and puts one in front of her.  She eyes it with suspicion._

_“One more universe to go,” he says, setting down the bottle and picking up his own shot glass.  “Maybe we should just toast to the fact the Prince and Princess got to the point where they were willing to fuck each other instead of kill each other.”_

_Brienne blushes but wraps her hand round her glass._

_Jaime lifts his in a toast, and, to her credit, Brienne does the same and looks him squarely in the eye for the first time since she returned to the control room.  They toss back their drinks and slam their glasses back on the desktop._

_“Right,” Jaime says, putting the top back on the bottle.  “One more universe to go.”  He gives her a small smile.  “Ready?”_

_She nods._

_“At least we know they won't be having sex in this one,” he says and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

The compound in the forest is more secure than Jaime had expected at first sight.  After several more evenings patrolling the perimeter, he knows there's a fence-like structure hidden in the treeline.  Further inspection shows it’s not so much a barrier as an early warning system, and he learns from his children there are specific actions for everyone to take if something breaches the perimeter.

Several days later, a muffled clanging sounds through the clearing, and the youngest children immediately stop what they’re doing and run frantically towards the trees behind the shacks.  They scramble up rope ladders, into the treehouses hidden high in the branches while the older children grab their guns.

Jaime jogs up to Brienne.  “Where’s the breach?” he demands.

She gives him a distracted look from her beautiful eyes, a scowl on her face.  “North side,” she growls and leads Robb, Jon, Gendry and Margaery in that direction, with Jaime trotting along in the rear.

“Where are Hunt and the others?” Robb asks.

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “Out hunting.  They’re probably the ones who’ve breached the perimeter,” she says drily.

They don’t find humans; instead, there’s a family of wild boars snuffling in the grass on the north side of the clearing.  Brienne’s eyes light up, and they make short work of shooting as many of the animals as they can before the rest disappear back into the forest.

They spend the rest of the day repairing the fence, butchering the animals, and when they return, Brienne sets Hunt and his friends the task of readying the smokehouses so the meat can be cured and preserved. 

There’s already a root cellar and several large, aluminum barrels they use as cisterns.  They don’t hold much water, but it’s enough to keep them going for several days if they can’t make it to the river.  Gendry tells him they’re thinking of building an actual underground cistern if they can figure out a way to make a form of cement to seal it.

Jaime’s reluctantly impressed with Brienne’s determination to build a permanent settlement in this clearing and the way she manages to keep all these children—twenty of them ranging in age from eight to sixteen—focused and motivated enough to keep working and keep going.

Mayhaps she isn’t going to die quite as quickly as he expected.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime hears most of the story from Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen:  the school trip to Harrenhal; the Event that happened while they were touring the prison cells of the castle; the eventual decision to make their way back to King’s Landing, with the goal of reuniting the children with their families where possible.  But there’s something the children refuse to tell him, something that causes Tommen to shut down as he goes away somewhere inside.

Jaime joins Brienne on her next patrol and broaches the subject.

She scowls and says, “I made mistakes, and people lost their lives.”

Jaime says, “I think that’s happened more often than not in this brave new world of ours.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not, but even Joff refuses to tell me how you ended up as the sole adult responsible for twenty children.  It can’t have started that way.”

Brienne is almost stomping by now, speeding up.  He easily keeps pace.

Brienne glances at him from the corner of her eyes and grinds her teeth, then says, “We were stranded at Harrenhal.  The entire school was there—”

“Did you have a child in the school?” Jaime asks, sick sympathy twisting his gut at the thought Brienne might have lost a child at some point in these last two years.  He knows the feeling.

The question surprises a harsh laugh out of her.  “Look at me, Jaime.  _Of course_ I didn’t have a child in the school!  I was friends with Catelyn Stark.  The school needed more chaperones since they were taking all the students to Harrenhal on a field trip.  They were desperate for more bodies, so Catelyn asked me to help out, and I agreed.”

“Ah,” he murmurs.  His kids had transferred to the best school in King’s Landing when they went to live with his parents after Cersei returned to Maegor’s Sanitarium.  That had happened while he was deployed.  He had never even seen the school.

“It was the five hundred year anniversary of the Targaryen Conquest,” Brienne says, almost to herself.  “Harrenhal was re-enacting the Burning of Harrenhal.”  She glances at him and shrugs.  “It’s why the school decided on the field trip.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow as he nods, remembering this from his weekly video calls home to his children.

“Pretty dark subject matter for the younger children,” he says.

“The younger children were touring the castle during the re-enactment.”

“Not much better, really,” Jaime mutters.

Brienne flashes him a surprisingly sweet smile, then says, “True.  Anyway, we were in the dungeon when the power went out.  It took us...I don't know how long to realize the power wasn't coming back and we needed to find our way out in the dark.  Thank the gods we still had a couple people who were smokers!”

Jaime frowns.  “Your cell phones should have been protected from the EMP—”

“It's a national historic site...or used to be.  We turned in our electronic equipment at the gate.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “Even the teenagers?” he says, skeptical.

Brienne's smile is almost amused.  “Even the teenagers—or they'd have had to wait in the bus.”  She shakes her head.  “Even if they hadn’t, we didn’t have any teenagers with us; they were watching the Burning of Harrenhal.  Anyway, we missed the Event, although everyone told us how the sky turned as red as blood and then all the power and electronics went out.  Phones, computers, cars—nothing worked.  Nobody understood just how _wrong_ things were until several days later, when the power still hadn’t returned and the food began to run out.”

“When did you decide to try to make it back to King’s Landing?”

“A few days after that, while there was still enough food left we could take some with us.  There was…”  She hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip.  “There was a group of men who had decided to try and make it back, too.  Led by the largest man I’d ever seen.”  She grimaces.  “We only saw his strength; we should have seen what was in his eyes.”

“Who’s we?”

“There were eight of us, eight women.  Me.  Elia Targaryen, Catelyn Stark, Lysa Arryn, Maege Mormont, Briony Hill.  Alyssa Frey.  Alerie Tyrell.  There were seven men:  Joss.  Raff.  Dunsen.  Chiswyck.  Eggon.  A man I only ever heard called Shitmouth, which did not go over well with the mothers.  And Gregor Clegane, also known as the Mountain.”

Jaime hisses in a sharp breath.

Brienne’s narrow.  “You know of him.”

“Of _them_ ,” he mutters.  “I’ve been in the Riverlands.”

“There’s recent news of them?”

“Oh, yes.  And their band has grown.”  He sighs.  “But the Mountain’s Men have competition:  they along with the Bloody Mummers, and the Brotherhood without Banners have unofficially divided the Riverlands between them.  What they'll do when they run out of innocents to terrorize is anyone's guess.”

Brienne rubs her brow and scowls.  “I’d hoped…”  She shakes her head and takes a deep breath.  “We were eight women, seven men, and thirty children.  The other teachers and chaperones decided to stay in Harrenhal with the rest of the children.  They tried to stop us so we slipped away in the middle of the night with those kids who wanted to come with us, and those who didn’t have a relative as a chaperone.

“We started walking on the King’s Road but quickly left it—even that soon after the Event, it was no longer safe.  We kept inside the forest that parallels the Road and, oh, about half-way to King’s Landing, we stumbled upon a small homestead.  It was already abandoned, and we decided to rest for a few days.  I took the older children and we went out to set snares.”

She pauses, grief twisting her scarred features.  “I never should have left them alone,” she mutters.  “We heard the screams and the shouting on our way back.  By the time we got there, the Mountain was raping Elia...he was covered in her children's blood, their poor, broken bodies beside her...and he was _laughing_.”

Her hand curls round the grip of her gun.

“Shitmouth was cheering him on.  The others were raping the rest of the women.”  She grimaces.  “Shitmouth was yelling something about how he wanted Elia next because he’d killed his woman too quickly just to shut her up.”  The knuckles of her hand turn white.  “Poor Lysa,” she whispers.  Then, more loudly, “They’d barricaded the children in the house.  I just thank the gods every day they didn't start with them, and that I’d taken all the older girls with me.”

They walk in silence, then Jaime says, “What happened?”

Brienne shrugs.  “I...went berserk.  Thankfully, we’d returned to the yard beside the barn and everyone was too busy to notice us.  There was a—a—crowbar or something leaning against the barn and...I grabbed it...and...”  She blinks rapidly, lips pressed in a tight line.  “Turns out, his mouth wasn't actually full of shit; just blood and teeth.”

Her face is pinched, but Jaime can’t tell if it's from rage or grief or horror or nausea or all of them at once.

She says, “The Mountain's head was full of cement, or at least that’s what if felt like when I hit it.”

Jaime hisses in a sharp breath.  “You did _what_?”

Brienne shrugs.  “I had to get him off her.”

They walk through the trees in silence, checking the makeshift fence hidden by brush, making sure the crude alarm system they'd created is still in place.

They work silently until finally Brienne says, “It's a blur after that.  First time I ever killed a man; first time I ever shot a gun.”

“All the other women were killed?” he says.

She shakes her head.  “Shitmouth killed Lysa almost immediately but when we attacked, most of the surviving women began to fight back.  Then Gendry let the rest of the children out of the house and well…we drove them off pretty quickly from sheer force of numbers, and the fact we managed to keep their guns out of their hands.  But the Mountain’s Men killed three more children and Raff murdered Maege Mormont.  She at least managed to take him with her.  Then we were alone.  We buried our dead, left again for King’s Landing, and learned to stand guard and do whatever it took to protect ourselves.

“But Elia...Elia killed herself almost immediately.  She couldn't...her babies...”  Brienne shakes her head.  “Briony Hill ended up pregnant, but something went wrong.  We lost both her and the baby.  We lost Alyssa and Alerie the first time we explored King’s Landing and…”  Her hand goes to her scarred cheek.  “Gendry managed to save me, but he was too late for the others.  And Catelyn...Catelyn died the first winter from what was probably pneumonia, along with five of the children.”

“And then there was only you.”

“And then there was only me.”

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne furiously blinks, the computer screens blurred into bright blobs of light from the tears in her eyes._

_“Brienne,” Jaime says, his voice soft, worried, comforting._

_She shakes her head, then covers her face with her hands.  She struggles to get her emotions under control until Jaime tentatively puts a hand on her shoulder, and she breaks._

_Jaime guides her head to his shoulder and lets her weep._

*/*/*/*/*

_“We can stop,” Jaime says._

_The generators have been at full power for almost thirty minutes but Brienne hasn't been able to tell him she's ready to return to that universe.  She's already exhausted, her eyes feel filled with grit, her sinuses are clogged, and she knows her skin is still blotchy from her tears._

_“I'm serious,” Jaime says.  “This universe...”  He shakes his head.  “We don't need this universe, you know that. We can shut everything down and go back to Castle Black, get filthy drunk, and then we can get on my plane tomorrow and never come back.  Assuming the hangover doesn't kill us, of course.”_

_Brienne lips quirk.  “Are you really willing to give up the Samwell Prize?”_

_“Well... you never have to come back.  Then I can claim the prize just for myself.”_

_That turns the quirk into an almost-smile._

_“I'm not about to let you hog all the glory,” she says, although she doesn’t quite achieve her usual degree of sarcasm._

_Jaime’s smile is slow, his eyes warm, and Brienne has a flash of memory, the feel of Prince Jaime's lips pressed hungrily against Princess Brienne's._

_“That's my Junior,” Jaime says, and the memory dissipates as quickly as it formed._

_Jaime gestures towards the whiskey bottle, his eyebrow lifted in question._

_She shakes her head.  “I'm good for now,” she says.  “Days may have passed in the Mad Jon universe, but it’s only been what?  An hour or so here, and we still have to drive back to Castle Black.”  She frowns.  “But keep it handy.”_

_He nods, gives her fingers a comforting squeeze, and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne glances round their settlement and allows herself a moment of cautious pride and optimism.  She still wishes she could move her band of children back into the city, into real houses rather than the crude shacks they've cobbled together, but given the world they now live in, they haven’t done too badly.

They created the perimeter fence, set up an early warning system; built treehouses, hidden high in the branches behind the shacks, so the younger children have a chance to hide in relative safety if the settlement is attacked.  They patrol the perimeter daily, and their daily hunting trips outside the clearing are as much scouting expeditions as they are the search for food.

Brienne shies away from the memories of those first few months, after the Event:  the aftermath of the Mountain’s Men, King’s Landing, finding this clearing, and struggling to keep everyone together and secure and _alive_.  She’s grateful they’re now at the point where they _can_ try to make this place a home. 

But it’s only a matter of time before they're discovered by another roving band of outlaws and sooner or later they're going to run out of ammunition for their guns.  They also need to make another trip to King's Landing before winter sets in, to scavenge materials and scour the libraries still mouldering in the city for more useful books.  The watermill is coming along nicely:  small, to fit the size of the river at this point, yet it will still allow them to easily and quickly grind what little wheat they can add to their food stores for the winter, and eventually, she hopes, to grind other grains and herbs.

Hyle Hunt and Mark Mullendore step out of the shack the four men had built for themselves.  Hunt sees her and gives her what almost seems to be a flirtatious smile.  Brienne rolls her eyes and turns away but not before she sees Margaery Tyrell bounce up to Mullendore and pull him away from Hyle with a winning smile.

Brienne hides a sigh.  The oldest children are sixteen, going on seventeen, and Margaery’s not the first one who is beginning to think of love and sex.  Brienne sees the way Robb Stark and Jeyne Westerling look at each other, and Jon Snow and Ygritte Wildling have been seen more than once with purple smudges on their necks.

She's had a frank conversation with those children who are now teenagers even though her cheeks were practically glowing from embarrassment.  Still:  better they all understand the risks especially since she can't stop them.  She has a small patch of tansy growing beside her shack and still has last year’s supply of moon tea for whenever the girls may want or need it.  She remembers Briony Hill and shudders.

As for the five grown men, well, she told them again she would regret having to geld them and therefore remove what may be necessary future diversity out of the gene pool, but she would do it nonetheless if they laid one finger on any of the younger children, or on the older children without their consent.

Jaime had laughed then turned to the other men and told them he'd happily help her.

She sighs.

_Jaime._

He's in the clearing, shirtless in the warm late spring sun, chopping wood.  Brienne tries to watch him without appearing to watch him.  He swings the axe, the muscles of his back moving smoothly beneath his skin and a shiver runs down her spine and turns her limbs to liquid.

She's a fool, she tells herself grimly as he drives the axe into the stump they're using to chop wood and gathers up the cut logs.  She watches as he carries them to the lean-to they’ve been steadily filling stocking then she glances up at the hot sun blazing in the bright blue sky. 

It may be late spring, with summer still to arrive...but winter is coming.

She turns to her passel of children as Tommen reluctantly joins them. 

"All right," she says, "are we ready to go check and reset snares?"

Arya nods a tangled head and Brienne absently notes she's going to have to shave the girl’s hair off again because they'll never get a comb through it now.  Sansa and Tommen both look a little sick at the thought of the dead rabbits.  Brienne wishes she could put them exclusively on other tasks, but if they're ever separated from the group, they need to know how to survive, and that includes setting snares and skinning rabbits.

Myrcella looks resigned to the task, while Bran and Lyanna look almost as eager as Arya.  As for Joffrey...Brienne glances at the sullen golden-haired boy and hides a shudder of distaste.  He sometimes seems to get so much pleasure out of seeing the poor furry bodies in the snares that she's almost afraid to turn her back on him or leave the younger children alone with him.

She glances back towards the lean-to just in time to see Jaime step out and look over in their direction.  He raises a hand in a salute that she awkwardly returns then leads the children towards the gate.  When they get there, she glances over her shoulder and finds Jaime staring after them.  Their eyes meet and for a moment, she feels like she’s pinned to the ground by his stare...then she turns and leads the children into the forest.

There's no point yearning for something she'll never have, she firmly tells herself.  He probably wouldn't be any better than Hyle, anyway.

*/*/*/*/*

After several very warm days, Brienne tells Margaery and Jeyne Westerling she's going to the pond and slips away from the clearing.

The pond is a part of the river where the banks are wide apart and the water is placid.  The water comes to Brienne's mid-chest at its deepest point and the bottom is filled with smooth rocks and sand.  She brings the children here sometimes to teach them to swim and to just allow them to be children.  But everyone knows that if she’s going to the pond by herself, then it’s because she wants some time alone.

Brienne strips, leaving her clothes on the sloping river bank and steps into the river, the sun warm on her skin. She ducks beneath the surface and she swims for a while, then floats on her back.  She stares up at the clear blue sky until her eyes burn, then she closes them and dreams she's back on Tarth.  Behind her eyelids, she leaves the water and dresses in different clothes, then returns to Evenfall Hall where she greets her father, who grins his wide grin and tells her she's almost late for dinner.

Her eyes prickle with tears and she blinks them away.  She stands then lets out a squeak of indignation as she realizes she's no longer alone.  She instinctively crosses her arms over her meagre breasts and drops down until the water is lapping at her chin.

“ _Jaime!_ ” she sputters angrily.  “What are you doing here?”

“Margaery told me you were at the pond.”  He glances round then gives her a smirk.  “You've been holding out on me.  Who knew we had our own bath?”

He pulls off his shirt then raises an eyebrow.  “You don't mind if we share?”

She bites her lip then shakes her head.  She can easily break him in half if she has to, she thinks, but she knows he won't touch her.  Besides, she doesn’t know why, but she really does trust him.

Still…she watches with wary eyes as Jaime strips down on the riverbank.

He's thin, as they all are, but even so, he's beautiful. Half a corpse, she thinks, giddy, and half a god, and she doesn't know if she should laugh or weep or rage at the fact it took the end of the world and being the only adult female in sight for a man like him to notice her.

She brings herself up short.

He's not here because he wants to fuck her, she reminds herself.  Remember Hyle and the others.  And—she peeks—Jaime's cock is limp.  He's not getting in the water because he's aroused by her.  He just...needs a bath.

She averts her eyes as Jaime steps into the pool and glides towards her, breaking the surface beside her.  She gives him a baleful glare as he swipes his wet hair back off his face and gives her a glimmer of a smile.  His smile widens at her expression before he ducks below the surface and scoops two handfuls of sand from the bottom.  He gives her one and begins to use his to scrub at his chest.

He shrugs. “Not as good as soap, but you make do.”

She snorts a little at that.

"You've done well, Brienne," he says after a moment of charged silence.  "The compound is secure and well hidden.  But you know you won’t be safe here forever."

"I know," she says.  "I keep hoping..." she stops, chewing on her bottom lip then shrugs.  "You're the only parent we found."

Jaime pauses in his scrubbing and stares at the wet sand in his palm.

"I had nowhere else to go," he finally says.  "I didn't think they were alive."

She hesitates then says, "Do you know what happened?"

He shakes his head.  "I, too, was underground when the Event happened, clearing out a bunker filled with insurgents and hoping I wouldn’t get killed in the process.  Witnesses told me the whole sky was on fire.  Those in Meereen thought it was the Red Comet."

"But then how—why—?" she shakes her head.  "A comet strike should have burned the whole world."

He sighs.  "I don't know.  No one does.  All we do know is the power went out and we died by inches."

"Not here," she says, her voice bleak.  "Here we died by leaps and bounds.  It took about six weeks for us to make our way back from Harrenhal.  King's Landing was already deserted, except for roaming bands of madmen."  Her hand goes to her ravaged cheek.

They’d called him Biter, she thinks and shudders.

She realizes Jaime is watching her with a peculiar expression on his face and she blinks away her memories.  _Those_ men, at least, are dead, thanks to Gendry and the others.

"Do you think we should leave here?" she says.

"You may not have any choice, especially if people like the Mountain find you again.  There _are_ other settlements, although the closest ones I’ve found are on the other side of the Blackwater.  Some you'll want to avoid at all costs, but some—well, trading networks and access to more resources are always good, and there's strength in numbers."

She frowns and is suddenly struck with the absurdity of having this conversation while they’re standing naked together in a river pool.  But the world is no longer amusing and she has the lives of twenty children in her hands.

"How far away are the settlements that might be welcoming?" she asks.

He shrugs, and even as thin as he is, his shoulders are broad, well-defined muscles rippling beneath the smooth surface of his skin.  She abruptly averts her eyes and begins to scrub her rapidly diminishing handful of sand over her shoulders.

Jaime says, "There's one about two days' journey from here, mayhaps three."

She scowls.  "Should I go and make contact with them?  Feel them out?"

Jaime looks at her with a half-smile on his handsome face.  "And leave the children alone for that long?"

Her scowl deepens.  "I can't take twenty children into hostile territory.  I know we’re vulnerable, but they’re still safer here than out there.  I can always leave you and Hyle and the others with them.  Or mayhaps I can take all of you with me and leave the oldest children in charge of the others.  They're smart, disciplined, and most of the children have learned to defend themselves over the last two years."

"Most?"

"Rickon and Tommen are still so young," she sighs.  "I can't quite bring myself to put guns in their hands yet."

"I suppose not," he murmurs.  He idly scrubs at his arm with what’s left of his handful of sand, frowning in thought.  He says, "Do you trust Hunt and his cronies?”

"No," she says promptly.

“Do you trust _me_?”

Her mouth quirks up.  “Where are you right now?” she asks drily.  “And please note you’re still alive and in one piece.”

He slowly grins.  “So, yes, then?”

She flushes and nods.

“I can take Hunt and his friends to this other settlement.  Act as your emissary.  Sound them out.”

Brienne raises an eyebrow.  “And make sure Hunt and the others don’t sell us out?”

Jaime shrugs.  "Mayhaps I’ll be able to leave them behind."

She brightens at the thought then she deflates.  "What does it matter?  If this other settlement is willing to accept all these children, then we're right back with Hyle and his friends."

"With more people to keep them in check," Jaime says.  "You have the six oldest children to help, and many of the others are prepared to fight, but if those men were to work together..."

Brienne scowls.  "I know," she snaps, “we’ve been here before.”  She softens.  "I don't want them here any more than you do—or than the children do, either.  But there's so few of us left, we can't just eject them from the compound.  Or at least we need a better reason than 'they're creepy'."

Jaime actually smiles at that.  "Unfortunately, I understand.  So I'll take them with me and encourage them to stay at the settlement."  He raises an eyebrow.  “We’ll go in a week or so.  It depends on how my children react to me leaving again.”

Brienne nods and silence descends between them, broken only by Jaime slipping once more beneath the water and returning with two more hands full of sand so they can finish washing themselves.

It’s not until they’re on their way back to the riverbank that Brienne notices she’d been standing straight in the water as they finished bathing.  As they dry themselves and dress, she’s shocked to realize that she feels no embarrassment at the fact Jaime has seen her naked body.  She glances over her shoulder at him and mentally shakes her head.

Of course, it’s not as if he’s looking. 

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime and Brienne blink then glance at each other from the corners of their eyes._

_Brienne grimaces, shakes her head, and reaches for the whiskey bottle._

*/*/*/*/*

_They spend the next half hour taking turns leaving the control room and pacing the corridors of the facility.  When the generators are at full power, they once again ease their chairs away from each other and then Jaime hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne honestly doesn’t understand why she instinctively trusts Jaime Lannister so completely...only that she does.  When she worries too long at the question, she ends with telling herself he saved her life at the Red Keep and that's enough.  Or mayhaps it’s because he’s joined her in the river pond several times over the last two weeks and has never once noticed she’s as naked as he is.

She wishes she could say the same for herself.  Her dreams at night have become filled with images of Jaime’s naked body, and she wakes, yearning for something she’s refused to allow herself to even think about since Hunt and his friends had so completely humiliated her.  If she were a more desirable woman, she would have already begged Jaime to fuck her.  Even now, at the end of the world, she knows he would only laugh at her.

She’s embarrassed by the intensity of her lust for the man, worried he might notice, but at night, safe in the privacy of her shack, she tells herself it doesn’t matter.  Jaime never has to know she dreams of him in the dark of night as her hands drift to the juncture of her thighs to ease the hunger thrumming through her.  There’s so little pleasure in the world right now, she thinks.  She imagines him heavy against her, moving inside her as she moves her fingers, and thinks there’s no harm in this.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime dreams of Brienne’s acres of freckled skin and amazing blue eyes, her small breasts that will perfectly fit in the palms of his hands, the thick blonde hair guarding the sweet heat he knows is hidden between her thighs, and wakes, hard and aching and taut with lust.

He lays on his back, trying not to groan with frustration.  The children are sleeping in the same room, their soft snuffling sounds filling the small space.  He quietly rolls from his blankets and steps outside and lets the air of the late spring evening cool his body.

There’s movement in shadows behind the shacks, and he sees Ygritte and Robb taking their turn at guard.  He strolls to the communal fire pit and finds Hyle Hunt sitting by the banked coals, a cup in his hand.

Hunt glances at him, then reaches down and shows him a bottle of whiskey, lifting an eyebrow in question.

Jaime considers it then shakes his head and sits down not far from the other man.  He would have preferred to have the pit to himself, to think on Brienne and wonder what it is about her that draws him to her; she’s so unlike Cersei…and mayhaps that’s the reason.  He ponders how best to draw Brienne closer without startling her away.  She’s so fucking brave and honorable while still rightfully wary.  After all she’s seen…

“Are there _really_ other settlements out there?” Hunt asks, startling Jaime out of his thoughts.

Jaime nods.

“Close?”

“The one we’re going to is the closest one I know.  It’s about three or four days away, on the other side of the Blackwater.”  He frowns.  “You really hadn’t found any?”

“We stuck inside King’s Landing.  There were a lot of resources, after all.  Shelter.  Food.  Guns.  Ammunition.”  He grimaces.  “We had to be careful, of course, but still.  Pretty easy life, in a lot of ways, especially compared to this place.”

“Why are you here, then?”

Hunt shrugs.  “Women,” he says.

Jaime’s eyes narrow.  “The girls are only sixteen.”

“Sixteen was the age of consent, Before,” Hunt reminds him, and Jaime scowls.  Hunt sees his expression and laughs.

“Don’t worry; I think most of the older girls are spoken for already, and I’m certainly not interested in waiting for the others to grow up.”

Jaime straightens.

Hunt laughs again.  “That’s not what I mean!  I mean, I, personally, am setting my sights on Big Brienne.  Any port in a storm, right?  And she’s done a hells of a good job with this settlement.  She’s definitely going to be the one in charge for years to come.  A woman of influence and power, even if it’s just in this settlement and over children…well, that’s for me.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “You don’t want to be in power yourself?”

Hunt winks.  “One step at a time, Lannister.  One step at a time.”  His smile turns mocking.  “You know what it’s like to over-reach in your struggle to the top.  You killed the King and thought you’d get the Iron Throne, didn’t you?”

Jaime’s face is cold and expressionless.  “If I said no, would you believe me?”

Hunt laughs and airily waves his hand.  “What does it matter now?  The entire royal family is likely dead anyway and nobody cares anymore if you shot Aerys Targaryen in the back or not.”

“You seem to.”

“Well, we can’t pretend you’re not the Kingslayer.”  He glances at Brienne’s shack.  “She know who you are?”

“Of course.”

“Ah, good,” Hunt says and takes a sip of whiskey.

“Why good?”

“It means you’re no competition…assuming you could get your cock hard enough to fuck her in the first place.”

“What the fuck are you nattering about?” Jaime growls.

Hunt rolls his eyes.  “Brienne isn’t the most forgiving soul in the world, and she would never lower herself to fuck you, even if you managed to keep it up long enough to do the job.”  He leans closer.  “Look, I want a woman.  Any woman will do, and if I have to settle for Brienne, well…it’s pretty dark at night now.  I mean, I managed to fuck her once; I’m sure I can do it again.”

Jaime stares at the other man with a kind of appalled fascination and only manages to stop himself from shoving his stupid, smug face into the fire by reminding himself that they need diversity in the gene pool. 

He seizes on the only thing that makes any sense and doesn’t enrage him to quite the same extent.  “You and Brienne?”

“Once.  Before.”  Hunt laughs.  “The guys and I, we had a—” He stops as he sees the expression on Jaime’s face.  He blinks and mumbles, “We knew each other in university.  It didn’t work out.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow and thinks he needs to ask Brienne about what really happened with Hunt the next time they’re alone.  He can’t believe she fell for such an idiot…although mayhaps he hadn’t been quite so obvious Before.

“You think you can convince her to take you back now?” Jaime asks.

Hunt chuckles.  “Well, let’s face it:  she’s not going to get anybody else, is she?”

*/*/*/*/*

The men are ready to leave several days later.  Jaime pulls Brienne aside and they once again go over what Brienne is willing to trade with this other settlement, and what supplies they most need.

“Vegetables, or vegetable seeds for next spring,” she says.  “Fruit or plants for next spring.  Ammunition, of course, or a recipe for gunpowder.  We don’t have much to trade, though.  Some smoked meat and…” she frowns, thinking.  “Moon tea, I suppose.”

He lifts an eyebrow.  “But you don’t want to ask to join them?”

Brienne chews on her bottom lip, her eyes wide and blue and worried.  The combination goes straight to his cock, and he edges a little closer.

“Let’s see what kind of people they are,” she finally says and gives him a helpless look from her magnificent eyes.  “I have to protect the children.”

He cups her cheeks in his hands and kisses her for that, then kisses her again because of her adorable squeak of surprise at the first one.  The third kiss is because she hasn’t punched him or broken his arms, and the fourth…the fourth is because he can’t help himself and he’s rewarded with her lips softening and parting to allow their tongues to dance with each other.

He’s only just pulled her flush against him when he hears Hunt shouting his name.  He reluctantly eases away.

“We have to go,” he says, his voice husky.

She’s staring, eyes wide and dazed, her plump lips swollen and red.

“Walk us to the gate,” he murmurs, and she nods, still unable to speak.

He doesn’t kiss her again, but he looks over his shoulder as they leave, and locks into his memory the image of her staring after him, still stunned, with his children standing beside her.

*/*/*/*/*

There’s no time during the days to think of Jaime’s kisses, but at night, alone in her shack…

Brienne allows herself to dream.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime and the others return several weeks later, and when they do, they have four women with them.

The women are sisters.  They’re Dornish, and Brienne thinks they’re some of the most beautiful women she’s ever seen.  They explain they’re emissaries from the Martell Settlement, and have come to trade with Brienne’s Town.  Even she can hear the capital letters when they use the phrase.

Obara Sand is the oldest, the obvious leader of the small group, and seems to have caught Owen Inchfield’s eye.  Nymeria is dark and sultry and perpetually amused as Red Ronnet Connington fawns over her.  Mark Mullendore seems taken with the youngest of the group, Sarella, which does not sit well with Margaery, and Tyene hasn’t left Jaime’s side since she arrived.  In the meantime, Robb, Jon and Gendry are watching all the women with wide-eyed fascination, although Jeyne Westerling and Ygritte glower at Robb and Jon, and eleven-year-old Arya even kicks Gendry in the shins then runs away after she notices him staring at the Sands for too long.

Brienne watches the shifting and swirling dynamics, and her heart sinks into her stomach.  These women are obviously dangerous, resilient, and resourceful survivors, an asset to any group struggling to survive…but Brienne has a settlement filled with traumatized teenagers who are just beginning to explore their sexualities.

This is going to be a nightmare.

She sees Jaime’s amused expression as Tyene says something and leans her golden head closer to his.

This is going to be a _fucking_ nightmare.

*/*/*/*/*

The Sand sisters are most interested in moon tea and explain to Brienne that the Martell Settlement has grown to several hundred people.  They need their land to grow food and haven’t managed to find enough wild-growing tansy to provide every woman with moon tea, if they wish to use it.

They inspect Brienne’s thriving tansy garden and eagerly agree to exchange vegetables and seeds for moon tea.  They’re also fascinated by all that’s been done in the settlement, although Brienne and the children are careful not to reveal their security measures to them. 

The days speed by because if Brienne isn’t with one Sand sister, she’s with another, and between trade negotiations, entertaining their guests, and maintaining the settlement, the only time she’s alone is when she goes to her shack to sleep.

Brienne eventually finalizes a deal with Obara, and they agree she should be able to supply a year’s supply of moon tea for fifteen women in the fall.  Brienne also agrees to expand her tansy garden, and next fall, she’ll hopefully be able to supply moon tea for all the women in the Martell Settlement as well as for the girls in her own settlement.

As for Jaime, he’s made no effort to get her alone or to kiss her again, and she’s hurt by that even though she also understands it.  His children have glued themselves to his side since his return, and the few times he hasn’t been with his children, Tyene’s been close at hand.  Tyene is breathtakingly beautiful, almost ethereal, and Brienne can’t blame Jaime for being enamored even as it hurts her heart.  She tries to resign herself to the fact that Jaime and his children will be returning to the Martell Settlement with the Sands, and vows to see them off with a smile.

Adding to Brienne’s tension is Hyle Hunt, who she sometimes thinks is actually trying to flirt with her.  It’s annoying, but to be honest, she doesn’t pay enough attention to know for sure.

Just over a week after the men’s return with the Sands, the visiting women are hunting with the older children, the weather is gloriously warm, and Brienne finds herself truly alone for the first time since their arrival.

Spending some time in the water may be just what she needs, Brienne decides, and slips away to the pond.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime notices Brienne’s departure, and after explaining himself to his children, follows her to the pool.  She’s already in the water, her back to him as he steps from the trees.  He watches her muscles move beneath the skin of her back as she scrubs herself clean.

He shakes his head to clear it and calls, "Brienne."

She freezes then cautiously turns her head to look over her shoulder.  Her eyes are wide and startled.

"What?" she says.

He smirks as he shrugs and begins unbuttoning his shirt.  "Just wanted to let you know I was here," he says.

She drops so she’s covered to her neck as she spins round to gape at him then spins round again as his hands move to his pants.  Probably a good thing, he thinks, because he’s already hard and aching, longing to fuck her, but she needs to understand he hasn’t been avoiding her since his return.

"What are you doing?" she manages to squeak.

"I'm joining you for a bath," he says as he steps into the water.  He glides to her and stands, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he stares at the back of her head.  “It’s not like we haven’t bathed together before.”

Even her shoulders blush, he discovers, and for some reason that pleases him.  He wonders if he’ll be able to persuade her to at least kiss him again if nothing else.  Not that there's any place that looks comfortable enough to lay her down and explore all those freckles.  Besides, with Tyene Sand stuck to his side like a burr for the last week or so, he’ll be lucky if he can persuade Brienne not to drown him.

“Are you so craven you won’t even look at me?” he says and she spins round at that, rising to her full height.

He struggles to keep his gaze firmly on hers although he wants nothing more than to look his fill at her body.  Her eyes are wide and vulnerable and beautiful, and she doesn’t look away, although he has no doubt it takes every inch of her considerable courage not to do so.  There's a wariness and sadness in her eyes that he hopes he’ll soon be able to ease.

“Hi,” he says softly.

She blinks, a confused frown wrinkling her brow.

“You’ve been extremely difficult to get alone, and between work, my children and Tyene Sand’s determined pursuit, I haven’t had a moment to myself either.”

She rolls her eyes, putting her hands on her hips.  “I’ve seen how much you’ve been suffering,” she says drily.

His grin is slow and wicked.  “Have you been watching?”

She flushes again and it takes all his willpower not to glance down at her bare chest to see if her breasts blush, too.  With luck, he’ll eventually be allowed to look his fill.

Jaime says, “I’ve told Tyene the first time I met her that I’m not available.  She says she loves a challenge.”

Brienne frowns.  ‘Not avail…?”  Her eyes widen.

“Ah, you do remember,” he purrs and puts a tentative hand on her shoulder.  He feels her tremble at his touch and he eases closer.  “I know I do,” he murmurs and gently presses his lips against hers.

*/*/*/*/*

She's dead.

She must be dead; it's the only reason she would be dreaming she's wrapped in Jaime's strong arms while they kiss each other as if their very lives depend upon it.  And they're naked, in the pond, and he's pulled her to him like he wants to absorb her into his very bones and _gods gods gods_ his cock is hard and pressed against her and _almost_ _almost almost_ where she desperately wants it.

She hooks a leg over his hip, and her other foot slips out from beneath her and with a squeaking yelp, she falls, pulling him with her under the water.

They scramble back to the surface, coughing and choking, spitting out water.

Brienne is burning with embarrassment, thinking she's ruined her one chance to maybe have sex with a man who isn't doing it to win a bet, and then Jaime starts to laugh as he wraps his arms round her.

“We're ridiculous,” he says, burying his face in her neck as his shoulders shake with mirth.  She cringes, then her eyes widen as Jaime says, “Only _I_ would try to fuck you for the first time while standing in a pond filled with slippery rocks!”

His amusement is contagious and she starts to giggle, and then they're howling with laughter, clutching at each other as they try not to slip again.  In the midst of it all, she registers three things:  he said 'first time'; his hands are stroking over her back, down to her ass, and he’s pulling her flush against him once more; and his cock is still hard and still only _almost_ where she most desperately wants it.

*/*/*/*/*

They make their way towards the riverbank where they'd left their clothes, still laughing in between deep, heated kisses, stumbling and slipping and almost going back under the water more than once.  When they finally leave the pool, they spread their clothes on the ground for a makeshift blanket and Jaime lays her down as sweetly as if she were some beautiful girl; as if this was happening Before, and there was nothing to fear or worry about.

As he joins her, their legs tangling together, hands stroking, mouths tasting and tugging, making each other gasp and buck and squirm; as he finally presses her down and eases inside her, she allows herself to pretend she's beautiful, and surrenders herself to the moment and to him.

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime and Brienne are back in the control room, and Jaime feels his blood rushing in his head, their heavy breathing rasping in his ears._

_He slowly looks at Brienne and she stares back.  The glorious blue of her eyes is almost entirely swallowed by her blown pupils.  He sees the flush on her cheeks, her slightly parted plump lips and he falls towards her—_

_—and Brienne jumps to her feet, chair spinning across the room, and rushes out the door._

_When he's alone, Jaime carefully lowers his head to the desktop._

_Another fucking boner, he thinks, and half-groans, half-laughs._

_Thankfully, the intensity of the memories is already beginning to ease although his body has not yet gotten the message.  He groans again and wonders how embarrassed Brienne would be if he had come along with Mad Jon Jaime._

_The thought goes straight to his cock, making it even harder, and he slowly bangs— hits—his head—skull—against the desk, desperately—eagerly—furiously thinking of anything that could get his body back under control.  _

_He runs through the equations he and Brienne developed for these experiments…then he remembers her sparkling eyes and that cute little frown line in the middle of her forehead as they passionately—ardently— furiously debated string theory and quantum physics._

_Not helping, he thinks._

_He imagines kittens.  Fluffy, innocent kittens.  Kittens. Cats.  Also known as Puss.  Pussy.  And Mad Jon Brienne had been hot and tight and—_

_ Not _ _helping._

_He thinks of his Brienne's wide face, crooked teeth, freckles—and those blue, blue eyes, and wonders if she would look at him with as much surprise as Princes Brienne had looked at the Prince, or the way Mad Jon Brienne had looked at Mad Jon Jaime.  He wonders if his Brienne would make the same sounds; those same little gasps when he took her nipple in his mouth—_

_ Definitely _ _not helping._

_He wonders if Brienne is in the bathroom right now, splashing cold water on her face, or if she has her hand slipped inside her pants, her fingers stroking—_

_ Definitely _ _not fucking helping!_

_ Tyrion _ _._ _Yes, Tyrion!  That mismatched leering face is enough to make any cock go soft.  But Tyrion is a biologist and Jaime can hear him gleefully explaining that Jaime’s arousal is simply a natural reaction to stimuli and hells, Tyrion’s cock is standing at the ready, too, and he’s just hearing about it second hand._

_The imagined conversation makes Jaime furious, and he imagines himself punching the leering grin from Tyrion's face, and it's that image that finally makes the tension in his body ease slightly._

_Tyrion is his brother.  He loves him.  The idea of punching him simply because he, too, was aroused by Brienne's body—_

_His hands clench.  Mad Jon Brienne's body, he reminds himself, not his Brienne's, and his brother isn't even here and by the gods, Tyrion will never see any Brienne's body or there will be all seven hells to pay!_

_He catches his breath at his thoughts and slowly unclenches his fists._

_Brienne is his colleague, he thinks, his sweet Junior, and one of the best physicists it's ever been his pleasure— privilege—to work with.  She is not to be disrespected—not by him; not by anybody._

_And with that thought, his arousal finally eases although his cock twitches again when the door opens and Brienne steps back into the control room, her cheeks still flushed but her chin held high._

_“I need a drink,” she announces loudly, meeting his gaze with an obvious effort.  “Lots of them.”_

_“Gods, yes,” he says, and begins the procedures to power-down the facility._

*/*/*/*/*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N3:**   BWAhahahahahaha!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Canon-compliant coarse language. Lots of swearing.
> 
> **A/N:** This took a little longer than planned. I spent most of the week arguing with my muse about something that I absolutely loved, but which only made sense if it had happened much earlier in the story. *sigh* I finally had to leave it on the cutting room floor. *pouts*

 

*/*/*/*/*

They drive in tense silence back to Castle Black only to discover all the bars in town are already closed.

"Want to try and find an after-hours club?" Jaime says, half-hoping she'll agree.

She grimaces.  "I need a drink, not my ears blown out."

_Gods, don't say 'blown'_ , he thinks and his hands tighten on the steering wheel. 

Things had been a little awkward as they powered down the facility but nothing he couldn’t handle.  In fact, Jaime had begun to think things were getting back to normal as they strolled to the car and he pulled out of the parking lot—and then Brienne nervously rubbed the palms of her hands up and down the length of her long, ultra-toned thighs—and Jaime suddenly remembered how those endless legs felt wrapped round the other Jaimes’ waists, and his immediate, intense arousal made him grit his teeth so tightly he half-expected to hear his jaw crack.  His body hasn’t calmed one iota during the short drive.  His mind boggles from the absurdity of it all even as he’s so completely _aware_ of the woman beside him—every movement, every expression, every time she nibbles on that plumply seductive bottom lip—he's amazed he hasn't driven them into the ditch.  The very fact he’s using a phrase like 'plumply seductive'— _is that even a thing?_ —makes him want to bang—pound— _godsdamn_ —hit _—ohgods!—_ have his forehead repeatedly meet the steering wheel with great force.

Drinks. 

He needs drinks. 

Lots of them.

Preferably in the safety of an after-hours club with lots of people to distract him.

He has a sudden mental image of him and Brienne in the semi-dark of a club where the music is throbbing— _gods_ —pounding— _godsfucking_ —pulsating— _godsfuckingshitgodsdamnit!_ —where the drums and bass are...doing... _things_ , and he honestly believes he’s going to literally die of sexual frustration at any moment.

"Jaime?"

He starts, and shoots her a lightning glance.  "Sorry," he mutters, then clears his throat.  "Sorry.  Just trying to think where we can get a drink if an after-hours club is out."

"Well, we still have what's left of the whiskey."

"My place or yours?" he says then grimaces.  "Sorry."

She's bright red and he is _going to die_ , and he abruptly looks away.

"No, no," she says hastily.  "It's okay.  How about we just...forego the drink and go to b—I mean...let's just call it a night."

"Good idea," he mutters, although if he wasn’t so tense, he’d be pleased that she’s at least having _some_ trouble with her words, too.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime parks the car and they walk in taut silence to the hotel, the whiskey bottle casually swinging in Jaime’s hand.  Striding beside him, Brienne is intensely aware of Jaime’s casual grace, of every line of his legs and shoulders as he moves, of every flex in the firm shape of his ass that’s far too clearly outlined in those sinfully snug jeans, and she desperately tries not to remember how arrogantly beautiful the other Jaimes had looked when they were as naked as their namedays.

They step into the elevator and the silence between them stretches thin.  Brienne hears their rapid, shallow breathing, notes the tightness in Jaime’s shoulders as he repeatedly shoots heated glances in her direction, and for a wild moment she sees herself shoving him against the elevator wall and finding out if her Jaime's kisses are as intoxicating as Mad Jon Jaime's, or as unexpectedly sweet as Prince Jaime's.  

She can almost hear the snaps as the buttons of his shirt fly off as she rips it open, can almost feel his muscled chest beneath the flattened palms of her hands as she greedily devours his mouth—she gulps and realizes she's staring at him…and he's staring back, his eyes wide and dark and burning.

She sways towards him, thinking she won't be able to stop herself if he doesn't stop looking at her like that, Taena bedamned.

It's the thought of Jaime's significant other that has her abruptly straightening, pressing her back against the elevator wall, gripping the railing behind her, and fixing her gaze on the far-too-slowly changing floor numbers.  She's practically panting, almost whining, but she can't bring herself to care.  She tightens her grip on the railing and prays to every god she can think of that the doors open before her self-control breaks.

As if in answer to her prayer, the elevator pings for her floor.  The doors slowly slide open and in one swift move she grabs the whiskey from Jaime's hand and bolts for her room.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne slams the door behind her and leans her back against it, and wonders if she's going to be the first woman in history to be confirmed as dying from spontaneous human combustion.

She staggers on trembling legs to collapse on the bed.  She uncaps the whiskey, takes a small swig, and tries to will her body to _calm down_.

Impossible to do when her Jaime had looked at her like...like…

She closes her eyes and groans.

The look in her Jaime's eyes had been even more intense than the look in Mad Jon Jaime's.  While Prince Jaime had been kind and there was a degree of passion there, it was nothing compared to Mad Jon Jaime’s efforts.  She can still feel his fingers, gripping at her hips, his mouth on her breasts, his cock—

She abruptly sits up, heat prickling at her nerve endings all over her body.

And her Jaime's eyes had promised something even better, if for no other reason than because it would be _her_.

She breaks into a sweat and hastily takes another gulp of whiskey.

Shower, she thinks desperately.  Yes.  Shower.  The coldest shower she can stand.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime leans against the wall of his shower and lets the cold water pour over him.

He could have taken care of his aching cock another way, he supposes; he has plenty of memories and images now to for things to go quickly, but for some reason, the very idea just seems… _wrong_.  But gods— _gods_ —if they return to those universes and there’s more fucking, well…it’s very possible that at some point, he's going to orgasm along with his counterpart and that's just not something he thinks his Brienne— _Brienne Prime_ —will appreciate…although considering the way she was looking at him in the elevator…

He half-laughs, half-groans as he moves more fully beneath the icy torrents of water.

This is so utterly ridiculous and so beyond anything he was expecting to happen when he agreed to work with Brienne on these experiments.  Besides, he's a _physicist_ , for gods' sake!  He never thought he'd _ever_ have to warn a female colleague that he might have a literal orgasm instead of a metaphorical one during an experiment! 

This takes being excited by science to an entirely inappropriate level.

He leans his still-heated forehead against the glass of his shower and lets the cold water to do its work.

*/*/*/*/*

The morning is easier, although they agree to forego their usual workout together in favor of packing and getting to the airport.

The flight back to King's Landing is cordial, if a little cool and awkward, but they focus on working through the data on their own computers and when they land, they smile and wave and go their separate ways.

Brienne picks Pod up from the kennel and walks into her house with a sigh of relief.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime walks in to Tyrion’s house to find his brother and some long-legged brunette woman fucking on the couch.

He sighs and heads to the basement and thinks he really needs to start house hunting.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime and Brienne text each other the next day, agree to take a couple days off, and make arrangements to meet at the lab after that.

Jaime's relieved but he knows things are going to remain awkward until he and Brienne talk about what they experienced and their physical reactions to it.  That conversation is going to be almost as awkward as the past few hours.

Still…they're professionals, for the sake of the Seven, and they're friends.  They can handle a little sexual stimulation without it having to be _weird_.

Well.

Weird _all the time_ , anyway.

Besides, he knows they're going to return to those universes—somehow, someway, and sooner rather than later, even if he has to throw half of the Lannister fortune at whatever scientists are standing in their way—and they need to learn how to deal with this situation if it happens again.

He's also kind of pissed that the excitement of their scientific discoveries has been overshadowed by excitement of a completely different kind.  One that's simply—as he told himself while they were at the Wall—a perfectly natural physiological response to stimuli.  It's not _personal_.

Besides, he wants to geek out with Brienne, his partner in all of this, about everything they’ve discovered and experienced, and they barely looked at each other on the plane or at the airport when they said good-bye.  That pisses him off.

The door opens and he glances up to see Tyrion stumble in with another long-legged brunette woman on his arm.

Tyrion raises an eyebrow and Jaime just heaves a rueful sigh and says, “I was on my way out.”

*/*/*/*/*

After texting with Jaime, Brienne goes to the gym she uses when Jaime can’t meet for their usual work out, then she stops to pick up a bottle of the whiskey she'd stolen from him the other night.

She gasps at the price, and settles for a much cheaper brand that the store clerk assures her is still quite good.  She also buys beer for the first time in years, mainly because it had tasted surprisingly good in the Farmer Brienne universe.

She gets home and putters round the house, takes Pod for a walk, then works for a while, e-mailing and talking with colleagues, reading new research, and half-heartedly starts looking at the data they generated during this last set of experiments.  But she's restless and can't concentrate, and really...this is Jaime's experiment, too, and they should be working through the data together and arguing about what it all means.

It's why she agreed to work with him on these experiments in the first place, after all.  He's arrogant and sometimes far too flippant, but she can't deny he makes her work for. and think through, and justify every theory and equation in a way no one else has ever done.

And...he makes it... _fun_.

It's just not right that they've allowed what happens to their counterparts impact how they work together, or how they act towards each other.  Besides, it's not _personal_ :  it's just a natural, physical reaction to the memories that are in their brains when they return to their own universe.  She's sure they wouldn't have been quite so… _affected_ if the sex hadn't happened just as those particular experiments were ending and they immediately returned to themselves in the control room.

Brienne scowls at Pod, who looks up at her with melting brown eyes and thumps his straggly tail with a hopeful air.

“This is ridiculous,” she says firmly.  “We're professionals, and while I certainly have feelings that go beyond that, he definitely doesn't, and we've managed to work together quite well until now.”

She frowns, tapping her foot, then nods.  “Get your leash,” she says.

Pod lets out a happy yip and scampers to where his leash is stored and carries it back to her, tail now wagging furiously.

She stuffs the whiskey and a couple bottles of beer into her backpack, snaps the leash onto Pod's collar then strides purposefully to the door.

She yanks it open and lets out a yip of her own—a startled one.

Jaime's just as surprised if his frozen stance is anything to go by.  His hand is still half-raised towards the doorbell.

They gape at each other then Jaime says, “Oh.  You're going out.”

“I was going to see you.”

Jaime slowly grins.  “And this is why we're such a good team, Junior:  great minds really do think alike.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime is armed with his own bottle of whiskey and a six-pack of beer.  They take Pod for a quick walk round the block, because even Jaime can’t bring himself to disappoint the eager pup.  When they return, they settle on the couch with two shot glasses and two slightly larger glasses on the coffee table in front of them.  Jaime pours whiskey into the shot glasses while Brienne fills the other glasses with beer.

Jaime lifts his shot glass and says, “We need to have a blunt and honest talk about the auroch in the room.”

She picks up her glass and nods.  “The _big_ auroch in the room.”

Jaime grins.  “I’m flattered,” he purrs and she blushes even as she rolls her eyes.

“Not _that_ big,” she mutters and he bursts out laughing.

“Now that’s the Junior I like to see,” he says, clinks his glass against hers, and drinks his shot of whiskey.

*/*/*/*/*

Despite their intentions, they skirt round the auroch in the room, preferring instead to drink and talk about anything and everything except what they really need to discuss.

Brienne doesn’t know how long they sit there, discussing Cersei’s wedding in the Singer Jaime/Farmer Brienne universe, or arguing over whether to push the limits of the Wall even further by trying to extend their connection time to each universe for even longer, or watching Pod trying to get their attention and wriggling ecstatically as they scratch his ears and belly.  All she knows is it’s been dark outside for a while, they’ve finished Jaime’s whiskey and most of the beer, and the room is pleasantly hazy.

"Look," Jaime says, rather sloppily, and she’s relieved to see the beer and whiskey have taken their toll on him, too.

They’re sprawled companionably on the couch, Pod snoring peacefully between them, and the room tilts in an alarming fashion when Brienne turns her head towards Jaime.

She's going to regret this in the morning.  She always regrets this.  But ever since they found themselves with the memories of different versions of themselves, drinking seems to be the most logical way to deal with...with...

She glances at Jaime's drunken face, and he's still gorgeous even though his face is slack and his eyes are glazed.

Most logical way to deal with everything.

And everything means _everything_.

"Brienne?"

She blinks through the alcoholic haze and scowls.  "What?"

"Look...if things keep going the way they are in those universes, I’m worried that one of these times I'm going to…erm… _embarrass_ myself—and you.  You know the memories are... _intense_ , especially when we first return to our own universe."

"I know," she mutters, and feels her own body heat up.  She remembers that last elevator ride and flushes even more.

Jaime closes his eyes and sighs, his head lolling.  "I'm going to have to think of something."

"Diapers," she mutters.

"What?"

"Diapers.  Should catch any...um...involuntary expulsions of fluid, without showing anything."

Jaime's staring at her like she's speaking a different language.

Huh.

Language.

"How do we understand them?" she blurts out.

"What?  Diapers?"

"No!" and she starts to giggle.

He grins, his eyes drooping sleepily as he watches her.  "Good, because I think diapers are pretty self-explanatory."

She claps her hands over her mouth as she giggles even more.

"You're drunk, Jaime," she says and bursts into gales of laughter.

"You too," he mutters, his voice fading.  She glances at him as her laughter dies away and sees his eyes are closed, his breathing steady and deep.

She shakes her head as she unsteadily forces herself to her feet.  She makes her way to her hall closet and returns with a blanket.

"You're such a lightweight," she whispers fondly as she tucks the blanket round him.

Jaime grabs her hand with lightning speed and his grin is sleepily albeit drunkenly wicked.  "Not as lightweight as all that," he whispers and winks.  "Diapers?"

She nods mutely and Jaime squeezes her hand before letting it go.

He says, “It'll still be embarrassing if I'm calling your name."

"Well, I'll probably be calling yours, too," she says and is rewarded by his eyes popping wide open.  "What?" she says as she straightens, swaying a little.  "Did you think orgasms are only for men?"

She turns and staggers down the hall to her bedroom, Pod at her heels, and thinks she hears Jaime curse as she closes the door behind her.

*/*/*/*/*

He doesn't even bother taking his clothes off before he steps into the cold, cold shower.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne decides not to ask when she finds the sodden mass of clothes crumpled on the floor of her shower in the morning.  She just tosses the deliciously tousled, obviously naked, gorgeously infuriating man a pair of her sweats and puts his clothes in the washer.

*/*/*/*/*

She almost doesn't offer him a t-shirt.

*/*/*/*/*

"You should probably call Taena," she says as she makes breakfast.  Her stomach twists at the thought of the dark-eyed beauty, but whether from guilt or jealousy, she really can’t say.  "She'll be wondering where you are."

"Taena?"

She turns and frowns at his puzzled tone.  "The woman you live with?" she says.  "Come on, Jaime, even you can't push the absent-minded-professor thing that far!"

Jaime looks honestly confused then his expression clears.  "Right.  I haven't told you yet."

"Told me what yet?"

"I caught Taena fucking a Kettleblack."

Brienne's eyes slowly widen as her mouth sags open.  Jaime raises an eyebrow as he sips his coffee.

A million thoughts fly through Brienne's head and she settles for, "Which one?"

"Does it matter?  They're all alike."

"Useless," they say together and Brienne bites her bottom lip to keep from laughing.  It's really not funny.

"I'm sorry," she says, and means it.  "When did this happen?"

"When we got back from Castle Black the first time.  Turns out getting home early can be very illuminating."

"So...when you went to the Summer Isles...?"

"Me, Tyrion and the cab driver who drove me home.  Turns out he, too, was unlucky in love."

She frowns.  "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it hurt," he says, looking away.  "And I didn't want it to be real.  And it was too close—both in time and the person—to what happened to Megastar Jaime.  And..."  He glances back at her and gives her a helpless shrug.  "It's complicated."

*/*/*/*/*

After breakfast, they take Pod for a long walk, then return to Brienne’s house and she pulls up the data on her computer.  Jaime sits next to her as they peer intently at the screen, discussing every pattern or anomaly they see.

The sun is setting and Pod sitting, looking hopeful, by the door when they break, and after they take him for another walk, they return and Brienne makes supper.

“Do you think we need more data?” Brienne says as they sit at the table to eat.

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” she says, “if for no other reason…”  She nervously bites her lower lip, then shrugs.  "Is this science?  Or is it magic?"

"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,” Jaime says with a grin.  “But seriously, Brienne:  first soul mates, now magic?  Be careful or we’ll rescind your license to science.”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  "You know the old legends as well as I do, Jaime," she persists, "and Castle Black is said to have been built on the foundations of the original Castle Black that was destroyed at the end of the Age of Magic."

Jaime snorts.  "Age of Magic—please."

"Listen!  What if there's some truth to those stories?  Not magic, of course—that's ridiculous, I agree.  But mayhaps we're able to see into these universes at the Wall because the—the barrier between universes is thinner or they’re closer, or something."

Jaime looks thoughtful.  "The only way to test that would be to repeat the experiment in other locations and see if we get different results."

Brienne's smile is slow and Jaime's eyes widen.  "You've already booked time in another facility, haven't you?"

She nods smugly.  "The Meereenese facility had a day free in its schedule, two weeks from now."

Jaime heaves a melodramatic sigh then grins.  "Good work, Junior.  And we didn't even have to bribe anybody."

*/*/*/*/*


	15. Chapter 15

The sun is blinding, the air hot and an exotic mix of dry and humid when Jaime and Brienne, along with Pod, step off the Lannister private jet at the Meereen International Airport.  They quickly make their way through customs and Jaime's amused by Brienne's avid curiosity as they drive into the heart of the city.

"First time?" he asks.

She nods, craning her neck in an attempt to take in every inch of the city's colourful architecture.  "Tarth is fairly close geographically, but we just never came to Essos."

"Ah," Jaime says with a grin, "and now we know the real reason you chose the Meereenese particle accelerator for our next set of tests."

She rolls her eyes.  "It's also the only other particle accelerator in the world with an EM barrier, and their generators are eighty-seven point five percent as powerful as the ones at the Wall."

Jaime laughs.  They've been running simulations for the last two weeks, and have determined they can get to one universe, hold the connection for five seconds, and then wait an hour for the generators to recharge after each 'pulse'.

Pod yips sadly in his carrier and Brienne twists to look at him then says to Jaime, "I could have put him in the kennel, you know."

"Gods," Jaime groans, "you both looked so pathetic at the thought, I couldn't stand it.” 

Brienne flushes a little and Jaime admires the wash of colour in her cheeks then quickly glances away, hiding a grimace.  Even after two weeks, he still finds himself noticing things that he never would have noticed before Prince Jaime and Mad Jon Jaime fucked their Briennes.

He shakes his thoughts away.

"Besides,” he says, his voice light and teasing, “he's small.  He won't be much trouble and he can have the run of my suite while we're at the facility.  We'll check in to the hotel then go to the beach.  We’ll give the ratty little mutt a good long run before we have to leave him tonight."

Brienne nods and mutters, “He's not ratty.”

“Sure he is—aren't you, Pod?”

Pod yips and Jaime laughs.

*/*/*/*/*

The beach is filled with Westerosi tourists baking in the hot sun.  Jaime and Brienne stay close to the water's edge, tossing a piece of driftwood for Pod to chase, and racing to his rescue when he gets caught by a rogue wave.  Jaime admires Brienne in her shorts, discreetly watching her legs, strong and muscular and freckled, as he strolls beside her.  He thinks he catches her glancing at his own legs every once in a while.  He almost starts to preen before he catches himself.

They're better, he thinks, and things will get back to normal if he just doesn't fu—... _mess_ things up.  They'll get past this lingering…whatever-this-is and it will be like nothing ever happened by the time they get back to the Wall.  But it’s only been two weeks since their last set of experiments, and Jaime's glad they're only going to the Megastar Jaime/PI Brienne universe during their few hours here in Meereen.  At least he knows those two won’t be fucking any time soon.

Then again...he has been wrong before.

He throws the stick for Pod and glances at Brienne, who's walking beside him in silence, a thoughtful scowl on her face.

"Okay," he says with a sigh, "you were having fun a couple minutes ago.  What are you thinking?"

She keeps her eyes on her feet as she says, "Do you ever worry about the ethics of what we're doing?"

Jaime frowns.  "The ethics?"

"Yes.  We're connecting with our counterparts; experiencing what they're experiencing; we have their memories and thoughts in our minds when we return.  All without their knowledge.  How is that okay?"  Her scowl deepens as she tosses the stick for Pod to chase.

"It isn’t something we intended to do," Jaime says, "and we're only observing; we're not trying to influence them.  I highly doubt we _could_ influence them, even if we tried."

"Whether we can influence them or not," Brienne says fiercely, "we're still connecting to our counterparts without their knowledge or consent."

"Well, we can't exactly ask them if we can ride along with them for a while!  And it's not like we asked for this to happen."

"But we keep going back!  And what are we going to do when it comes time to publish, Jaime?  What do you think is going to happen when the world realizes they, too, can likely connect with other universes and experience different lives?"  She grimaces.  "What's going to happen when people like Petyr Baelish, that flesh-peddling, 'sleazy-reality-TV-is-what-people-want’ bastard, realize they could exploit this to make money?"

"We're scientists, Brienne.  We're not supposed to worry about what's done with the discoveries we make; our goal is to expand knowledge and human experience."

"How can you say that?  How can you just abdicate responsibility like that?"

"Brienne," Jaime says, and sighs.  "If we don't discover it, someone else will."

"So that makes it all okay?"

"That makes it... _inevitable_."  He scrubs a hand over his face then sighs again as he tosses the stick for Pod to scamper after.  "Look, ignore for a moment the fact that we're connecting to our counterparts."

She snorts.

"Listen!  Ignore for the moment everything we've been experiencing.  Pretend our ability to connect with our counterparts never happened.  _What did you think was going to happen_ when we proved our theories?  What did you think was going to happen when we proved that other universes do exist and we can find them and connect with them?"

Brienne scowls.  "It’s only on the quantum level," she says defensively.

"Yes.  And like every other time in human history, the lure of new lands to explore and conquer would be irresistible.  Even if we weren’t connecting like this, somebody would discover a way to connect beyond the quantum level.  Somebody would figure out a way to open a door to other universes that we can physically walk through at will."

"That could take centuries, Jaime.  I think it's more likely, given what we've discovered, that someone will figure out a way for us to not just connect with our counterparts, but to _control_ them."

"For what purpose?"

" _Think of one!_ " Brienne shouts, throwing up her hands.  Pod drops his stick and barks excitedly, and she crouches down to soothe the little dog.  After a moment she glances up at him, her eyes glistening like sapphires in the bright sun.  "People who are unhappy with their life here and want a second chance.  People who just want to experience different things, including sex, without it affecting their ‘real’ lives.  People who..."  She swallows.  "People who want to do horrific things to other people just for fun and without consequences to their 'real' lives.”

Jaime stares down at her, and thinks she looks as earnest and as innocent as a child.

"What do you want to do?" he finally asks, his voice quiet.

She chews on her bottom lip then she sighs and looks away.  "I don't know," she mutters.  She stands, Pod in her arms.

"Do you want to see if we _can_ control our counterparts?" Jaime persists.  "See if we can...I don't know...convince them to eat a peanut butter sandwich when they really want a ham one?"

That causes a smile to tug at her plump lips.  "I thought we didn't want to influence them."

"Well, if you're concerned it's going to be easy to control them, we should test that hypothesis instead of just worrying about it."

"But is it ethical?"

Jaime reaches out and scratches under Pod's chin.  "Probably not, but we've done our best to be strictly observers, not actors, and have deliberately tried to avoid influencing our counterparts.  To ease at least some of your worries, mayhaps we need to try to control them.  _If_ we can convince them to eat something they don't want to eat then let's have this conversation again."  He glances at her and for a moment he wonders if he's going to drown in the blue of her eyes, deeper than the ocean in front of them.  "If we're guilty of anything right now, Brienne, it's simply watching as our counterparts live their lives."

"I think that's called stalking," she says drily and he grins.

"Well, then maybe before we announce our findings to the world, we'll need to ask our politicians to make new laws."

Brienne reluctantly smiles.

*/*/*/*/*

_The Meereenese facility is twenty miles inland from the city, and isn't nearly as sparkling new as the Wall.  That's likely more to do with the wear and tear of the desert environment than its age or maintenance program, and it's still a powerful machine.  They don't need as much training in order to run it by themselves but the other physicists are just as curious as they reluctantly leave the facility that evening._

_Jaime checks the cameras and does a walkthrough to confirm everyone has gone.  He returns with coffee and popcorn._

_Brienne raises an eyebrow and he shrugs._

_"It's Megastar Jaime," he says.  "He's entertaining if nothing else."_

_She rolls her eyes as she shakes her head.  "Peanut butter sandwiches?" she says._

_Jaime nods as he munches a handful of popcorn._

_She waits for him to finish and then hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne walks in the front door to the sound of mournful piano music drifting from what they now call the Music Room.  It's across the hall from the living room Jaime had been sitting in when Brienne first met him and it had already been furnished with the baby grand piano he’s currently playing.

She pauses to listen.

The music is beautiful and pours from his fingers the way feather-light pastry pours from Nan's, or the way flirting words pour from Nymeria's mouth when she's charming someone into her bed.

Brienne pauses on the threshold and watches him.

Jaime's playing with his eyes closed, swaying as his fingers move, grief contorting his handsome features.  The song is already familiar; he's been working on it along with several others for the last two weeks, ever since Brienne cleared his name, and he allowed them to stay in the mansion as he promised.  The varysazzi still hiding in the trees around the house are sometimes tough to take, but they’ve decided to, thankfully, ignore her.  Few actually realize she's the private investigator responsible for clearing Jaime Lannister's name and saving his reputation...such as it is.

Well.  At least when it comes to how his reputation is portrayed in the sensation-hungry tabloids.  To Nymeria's never-ending disappointment, there have been no mansion-shaking parties, no scandalous sexcapades with groupies, underage or otherwise.  No drugs.  Almost no rock-and-roll.  He's done some shows and more concert dates are pouring in—back to normal, Addam assures her—but everyone, it seems, is watching him as if they’re waiting for a dam to break.

Jaime opens his eyes and stares unseeingly at Brienne before she seems to register on his consciousness.  He stops playing and lifts an eyebrow in question.

They're not exactly friends, but they have come to a comfortable understanding with each other, which is why she's hesitating about what she needs to do now.

His eyebrow creeps higher as she stares at him in silence.

"I need you to go to a party," she blurts.

It takes a moment for her words to sink in, then he smirks.

"Any party in particular," he drawls, "or are we just going to knock on doors until we find one?"

Brienne sighs and walks into the room.  "I have a client.  Olenna Tyrell."

Jaime lets out a low whistle.  "Of the Highgarden Tyrells?  The second richest family in the world?"

She nods as she sinks down on an ottoman close to the piano.  "Somebody's been threatening to kidnap her granddaughter, and to do it right in front of everybody at this party.  She wants me to see what I can discover.”

Jaime stares at her for a long, silent moment, his face expressionless.

"Well,” he finally drawls, “besides the fact that's the _stupidest_ thing I've ever heard a criminal do, what does she need you for?  She has a security team right out of the movies, for the gods' sake!"  He stops and blinks.  "Oh, wait..."

Brienne nods.  "Exactly.  She thinks it's most likely an inside job, so she wants to bring in a ringer.  Not even her granddaughter will know why we're there."

"And just how am I going to help you with this?  And why would I want to in the first place?"

"Because you owe me—"

"I'm giving you a place to live rent free!"

Brienne waves his words away.  "What have you done for me lately?  A girl still has to eat!"

"I'm paying for all the food in this place, too!"

"A girl has to have her own spending money, then."

"I'm the one who recommended you to the world at a press conference so you could make your own spending money!"

Brienne rolls her eyes.  "Look, all I need is for you to escort me to the party, glue yourself to Margaery Tyrell's side, and while you're being the centre of attention, I'll fade away and do some scouting.”

"You can't just go by yourself?"

"If I go by myself, I'll stick out like a sore thumb!"

His eyes narrow.  "This isn't a swinger's party, is it?"

"A swing—no!  At least…I don't think so.  But it is an extremely formal thing where people are expected to have an escort.  Or so Olenna tells me."  Brienne scowls. "I need a partner."

"Take Nymeria."

"Oh gods—and let her loose on a crowd of unsuspecting, filthy rich and probably horny people?  It may not start out a swingers' party, but it'll end up that way in less than an hour if Nym has her way!"

"She does liven things up," Jaime says with a grin.  “Where is she, anyway?  I actually didn’t have to drag the dresser in front of my door last night.”

"Sunning herself on the beaches of Lys,” Brienne mutters, her expression sour.

Jaime shrugs and turns his attention back to the piano.  “Well, not my problem if you can’t rely on your business partner.”

“I _can_ rely on her!  When she’s here.  Now, are you going to go with me?”

Jaime shakes his head, his hands moving effortlessly over the piano keys.  "Nope.  I'm writing, in case you didn't notice, and I have better things to do with my time than escort you to some boring as fuck party!"

*/*/*/*/*

Even with a pout marring his features, Jaime looks devastatingly handsome in his tux as he sits beside Brienne in the back of the rented limo.

Brienne rolls her eyes at Jaime's sulking and raises the privacy shield between them and the limo company's driver.

"Okay," Brienne says briskly as Jaime pointedly stares out the window.  He sniffs and refuses to turn his head.

“You are such a child,” she mutters, and she sees his mouth curve up in a smirk.

She shakes her head then nervously plucks at the far-too-frumpy dress that is the closest thing she has to a formal party gown in her meagre closet.  She clears her throat and says, "Okay, look:  if anyone asks, I'm your distant cousin from out of town."

That gets him to finally look at her, his eyebrow raised.  "Not my date?"

Brienne rolls her eyes.  "I'm a bit below your usual standard—at least if you're sober.  We want people to find it feasible that we would be at this party together."

"So, we're related.  Are we related through my mother's side, or my father's?"

Brienne frowns.  "It doesn't matter."

"Third cousin twice removed from tiny little Butthurt, half-a-mile north of the Wall, population twenty-seven-and-a-half?"

"Jaime..."

"Here for your first visit to the Big City and I'm showing you what it's like to live with electricity and running water and television sets?"

Brienne huffs, fighting the urge to laugh.     "Whatever helps you play the part," she says.

"Aw, come on, Brienne!  At least make the backstory interesting!  Otherwise, I'm going to get drunk while you're off doing...whatever it is you're going to be doing, and start spilling my guts to whichever nubile young woman is closest to me."

"I think that's how you got into trouble the last time," Brienne says drily, then winces. 

Pia 'Jazz' Peckledon's case is still unsolved and, to Morgan and Karl's sour disappointment, is already considered a cold case by the Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks.  To make matters worse, Bronn Stokeworth hasn't been seen since the night of the murder and is now considered the prime suspect, something Jaime vehemently refuses to accept.

Jaime's half-smile is instantly wiped away.  "Yeah.  You're right," he mutters and turns to stare out the window.

*/*/*/*/*

_"Well, that was insensitive," Jaime says._

_Brienne rolls her eyes. "Oh, like Megastar Jaime hasn't said anything insensitive to her!"_

_"Yeah, but he's a rich, entitled asshole.  What's her excuse?"  He tosses some popcorn in his mouth and smirks._

_Brienne just growls and throws a piece of popcorn at him._

*/*/*/*/*

_They make their notes, stretch their legs, then idly talk about whatever comes to mind:  the latest games of their favourite teams; the latest research; whether Dr. Jeor Mormont, that giant bear of a man who gave Brienne such a rough time during her doctorate, is ever going to finally retire; the latest news from Tarth; the latest news from Casterly Rock, the latest faculty gossip._

_Jaime's pleased.  They're back to normal, and he likes it._

_The computers softly chime to let them know the generators are once again at full power._

_“Well,” Jaime says as he stretches and sits down on his chair, “at least we know there’s nothing special about the Wall.”_

_Brienne pouts a little as she nods._

_“Sorry, Junior:  no magic.”_

_She rolls her eyes.  "Have you been trying to get Megastar Jaime to crave a peanut butter sandwich?" she asks as she straightens in her chair and swivels towards the computers._

_"As much as I can, considering I don't really have a sense of self when we're connected to our counterparts."_

_Brienne blinks her remarkable eyes.  "Good point," she mutters._

_He grins.  "Should we chant 'pea-nut-but-ter' as I hit enter?"_

_She rolls her eyes, then reluctantly says, "Maybe."_

_"Let's do it.  Think how hilarious it'll look on the security tapes.”_

_She flushes then shakes her head in mock-surrender before she nods._

_They solemnly start chanting, and it's all Jaime can do to keep himself from laughing at Brienne's earnestness._

_She's too precious, he thinks, and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

She's too precious, Jaime thinks as he watches Brienne discreetly gawking at the infamous Tyrell mansion.  The place is even more opulent than his own mansion but much more tasteful.  Which is only to be expected, of course; the Tyrells are positively ancient when it comes to family money.

The current matriarch, Olenna Tyrell, is in the receiving line, greeting guests.  She looks almost as ancient as her family name, but her eyes are as sharp as her tongue is reputed to be.  Her granddaughter, Margaery, stands beside her, a lovely, doe-eyed young woman, but Jaime sees the same sharp intelligence lurking in her deceptively soft eyes and gentle smile.  Margaery's smile becomes flirtatious when she recognizes him and she barely spares Brienne a glance.

"Brienne Tarth," Jaime hears Brienne saying as she introduces herself to Margaery.  "I'm Jaime's—"

"Date," he says loudly, startling everyone around them.  Brienne turns and glares.  "Reluctant date," he concedes with a charming smile at Margaery.  He leans closer.  "She much prefers 'friend with benefits'," he says in a conspiratorial whisper.

He watches with almost unholy amusement as Brienne abruptly turns a bright, glowing red. 

"I am not your date!" she growls through tightly gritted teeth.

"We’re attending the same function together, and we're not related.  Close enough to a date to count."

"Does this mean you're taken again?" Margaery says, with a charming pout.  “Already?”

"No!" Brienne bursts out.  "And if you're not careful, Jaime, I'll make sure you don't appear in public again for weeks!"

Jaime's smile is wicked.  "Promises, promises."

Brienne turns an even brighter red before she mumbles what might be an apology at Margaery and storms away.

Margaery turns an interested face towards Jaime.  "It appears you're now dateless for the evening."

Jaime gives her his most charming smile.  "It appears so."

Margaery slips an arm through his and gives him a smug smile as she pulls him to her side.

Jaime glances round and catches a glimpse of Brienne's broad back as she makes her way through the crowd.  He hopes she's bright enough to use this as an excuse in order to slip from the room.  If she’s _really_ bright, she’ll squeeze a tear or two out of her beautiful eyes to distract whoever may stumble upon her once she’s outside the ballroom.

He turns back to Margaery and joins her in welcoming the next set of guests.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne doesn’t know if she’s pleased Jaime has attached himself to Margaery or not.  She did tell him to find a way to glue himself to her side and to be a distraction.  If nothing else, his constant presence beside the young woman should deter whoever is threatening the girl from trying anything…if they are even truly planning on doing anything at all.  Threatening to kidnap someone from a party is a pretty strange—and Jaime's right— _stupid_ thing to do.  She suspects it's all an elaborate but harmless prank.

Still, she was hired to do a job and she intends to do it to the best of her abilities.

She sips at her glass of champagne, makes polite small talk with those in her vicinity, edges round the room and finally slips through one of the ballroom doors and heads to the back of the house.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne isn’t quite sure what she’s looking for, but Olenna had asked her to scout through the house.  She glides from room to room, does a cursory search of all the servants’ rooms, including the rooms of Olenna’s two bodyguards:  Erryk and Arryk Redwyne.  This is the security team Jaime said is right out of the movies and he’s right.  They’re identical twins, with red hair and mustaches, even taller than Brienne, muscular, handsome—and busy in the ballroom with all the guests.

Brienne quickly rifles through their nightstands and closets, and finds a backpack of clothes on the bed of one, along with a plane ticket for that night to an ultra-expensive beach resort in Myr in the name of Arryk Redwyne.  Brienne frowns, because thanks to Nymeria, she knows that particular resort.  It caters exclusively to couples, and extremely _rich_ couples at that.

She’s speeding back to the ballroom when she hears a familiar masculine voice in one of the rooms she’s passing, followed by a light, feminine laugh.  Brienne grimaces and continues on, then pauses as she’s struck with an evil thought.

Turnabout is fair play, after all. 

She tiptoes to the half-open door and peeks through.

Jaime is looking devastatingly handsome and Brienne admits the man knows how to wear a tux.  His hair is gleaming gold in the dim lamplight and his smile is almost fondly teasing as he looks down at Margaery, who’s standing close, her palms flat on his broad chest as she smiles coyly up at him.

“I’m sure I won’t do your reputation any good,” Jaime is saying as he puts his hands over hers.

Margaery chuckles.  “I’m not interested in anything more than a bit of fun,” she purrs.

Jaime's smile falters.

“I’ve had far too much fun lately,” Jaime says soberly, and Brienne knows he’s once again thinking of Jazz Peckledon.  “Besides, I also arrived at this party with a date.”

“Who's disappeared.  She probably went home.”  Margaery frowns.  “I’m not sure why Grandmother invited her; she was obviously out of place.  That horrible _dress_ …”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “She hasn’t had much time to shop for high-end gowns,” he says drily.

“Well, who cares, really?  She's abandoned you to your fate,” Margaery says and leans closer, lifting her mouth towards his.  “Finders keepers…”

_That’s my cue_ , Brienne thinks almost gleefully, and bursts into the room, shouting, _“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?”_

The pair jump apart as guiltily as if she really _was_ Jaime’s date.

After the immediate chaos, they stare at each other in frozen silence, then Jaime groans, putting a hand to his heart.  “Gods!  You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Margaery is glaring.  “What are you doing in this part of the house?” she snaps.

“I went for a walk, away from the crowd.  Imagine my surprise to find you here with my ‘date’.”

Jaime smirks.  “I take it you’re ready to leave?”

Brienne gives him a haughty glare.  “We should say our farewells to our hostess.”

Jaime steps closer to Margaery and Brienne rolls her eyes.

“I _meant_ Olenna.”

Jaime’s grin can only be described as shit-eating.

_“What’s going on here?”_

Brienne turns to see one of the Redwyne twins in the doorway, looking thunderous.  His look turns murderous when he sees how close Jaime is to Margaery.

“Arryk,” Margaery says, taking a quick step towards him, “this isn’t what you think!”

“No?” Arryk growls as he pushes past Brienne, rushes to the couple and punches Jaime in the face before anyone realizes what he intends to do.

Margaery screams as Jaime stumbles back and Brienne grabs Arryk’s arm before he can land another punch.

Arryk reflexively swings at Brienne but she dodges the blow.

“Watch it!” she yells while Margaery screams at him to stop.

Arryk stops and glares at her.  “Good gods, you’re a woman!”

She rolls her eyes.  “How observant,” she says drily.  “I can see why you work security.”

His eyes narrow and he takes a threatening step towards her.

Brienne glares then blinks as Jaime is suddenly in front of her, staring the bodyguard down.

“Can't we all talk calmly and rationally?” Jaime growls.

“I don’t think that tone’s going to help,” Brienne mutters.

Arryk draws back his fist, and Margaery leaps in front of Jaime.

“Arryk!  No!  Let’s talk about this!”

“That’s Jaime fucking Lannister,” Arryk growls.  “He never ‘just talks’ about anything!”

“Don’t believe everything you read,” Jaime says.  “I talk all the time.”

“It’s true,” Brienne says, leaning round Jaime's broad shoulders to glare at Arryk.  “He never shuts up.  Trust me.”

Jaime glances at her over his shoulder, and only then does she realize how close they are. 

“Thanks,” he says drily.

She flushes.  “Anytime.”

Arryk turns his glare on Margaery.  “What were you doing in here with him?  I thought—” he abruptly stops talking.

“Ah,” Brienne says.  “You and Margaery?”

Margaery glances, shame-faced, over her shoulder at them and shrugs.

Jaime heaves a mock-sigh.  “And here I thought we had a real connection.”

“You’re Jaime fucking Lannister.  You think I was going to pass up _that_ chance?”  She glances at Arryk and shrugs.  “Sorry, babe.”

Brienne frowns.  “Were the two of you planning on leaving town tonight?”

Margaery turns and gives her a puzzled look.  “Yes.  We're going to Myr for a little vacation.”

“Without your grandmother’s knowledge?”

“I haven’t told her, no, but she doesn’t keep tabs on me,” she says.  Now it’s Margaery’s turn to frown.  “Why do you care?  And how did you know?”

Brienne turns a suspicious face to Arryk, who’s watching her with cold, glittering eyes.  She says, “Were you planning on leaving the ransom note tonight, or do you have an accomplice who was going to manage that part here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says coldly.

“It’s pretty stupid to threaten to kidnap the girl beforehand,” Jaime says slowly, rubbing his jaw.

“Kidnap?” Margaery blurts.

“Threaten?” Arryk says.

Jaime and Brienne exchange a puzzled glance.

“Who else knew what you were planning?” Brienne slowly asks.

“You mean the trip to Myr?” Margaery asks, confused.

“No, I mean Arryk’s real plan, which was to take you to Myr, then probably take you somewhere off the resort for a 'romantic getaway', while telling your grandmother you were kidnapped so he could extort a ransom from her.”

Arryk’s gaze is unblinking.  “You’re insane,” he spits.  “Why would I do that?”

“Greed?” Jaime says lightly.  “It can’t be easy being bodyguard to a cantankerous old woman.”

“I resent that description, even if I do resemble it.”

They all turn to the door to see Olenna Tyrell, looking regal, with Arryk's twin standing behind her.

Margaery gives Arryk a betrayed stare.  “Is it true?  You were planning on pretending I was kidnapped?”

Arryk looks everywhere but at her.

“It is true,” she breathes, her shoulders slumping.

“It might have actually worked,” Olenna says, “but why would you send those threats about kidnapping her from this very party?”

Margaery turns a surprised face to her then glares at Arryk.

“I didn't do that!” he says.

“No, I did,” Erryk says and his twin glares.

“You sold me out?” Arryk growls.

Erryk sighs and turns to the others.  “Arryk told me what he was planning, and nothing I said was changing his mind.  I was hoping that if Mrs. Tyrell received threats, she would ask _us_ to help her, and that would stop this harebrained plan of my brother's and,” he spins to glare at Arryk, “we could keep our bloody jobs!”

“Well, you can’t fault a man for trying,” Arryk mutters.  “We could have both retired,”

“Because that wouldn't be suspicious at all,” Jaime says drily.  Arryk takes a threatening step forward, but he's stopped by his brother.

Olenna tsks loudly and says, “As enlightening as this has been, I don’t know if I’m more annoyed to be missing my own party, or that I missed seeing Jaime fucking Lannister get punched.”  She smiles a thin smile then turns to Brienne.  “Thank you, Ms Tarth.  You have been most helpful.  Now, it appears, this is a family matter, so I will bid you good-night.  A cheque will be sent to you shortly.”

Brienne blinks and Jaime scowls, and opens his mouth, but Olenna forestalls him.

“These two idiots are my distant cousins,” she says drily.  “I'm unfortunately rather fond of their mother.  I trust I can count on your discretion in this matter?”

“Of course,” Brienne says, then grabs Jaime by the arm and drags him from the room.

*/*/*/*/*

_“Well, those are two of the dumbest bodyguards I've ever seen,” Jaime says._

_Brienne grimaces as she sets the generators to return to full power.  She leans back in her chair and says, “Can't argue with that.”_

_“So, have you been trying to get PI Brienne to crave peanut butter?”_

_“Well, as much as I can when I don't have a sense of self.  So far, no craving.”_

_“Me neither,” Jaime says, then frowns a little before he shakes his head._

_Brienne remembers the look on Megastar Jaime's face when she'd burst into the room and she can't help herself:  she starts snickering._

_“What?” he demands._

_“You—you should have seen your face when I surprised you and Margaery!”_

_Jaime grimaces as she laughs, and rubs his jaw.  “That bodyguard had a hell of a punch.”_

_“That was a surprise,” Brienne says._

_“You're telling me!”_

_Brienne starts giggling._

_“Told you Megastar Jaime is entertaining,” Jaime says and laughs._

*/*/*/*/*

_“One more time?” Jaime asks._

_Brienne nods.  “And really push the peanut butter this time,” she says._

_“You bet,” he says, and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne stands at the kitchen counter, making roast beef sandwiches.  Jaime sits at the table, an ice pack pressed to his jaw.

“You better hope that maniac didn't permanently damage this face,” Jaime mutters.

“Oh, please,” Brienne sighs.  “You've been whining for an hour!”

“Hey!” Jaime says, pointing a finger at his face.  “This is my money-maker!  And I need to make as much money as I can to make up for what Taena managed to steal out from under me.”

Brienne snorts as she carries the plates to the table.  She's still in her frumpy dress but she's kicked off her shoes.  Jaime's in his tuxedo, minus the jacket and tie, and she covertly admires the breadth of his shoulders in his white dress shirt.

“What?” Jaime demands as she puts one plate in front of him and she sits at the table next to him.  “What's that snort mean?”

“It's not your face that's your money-maker,” she says, rolling her eyes.  “It's your talent! Your voice and songs and stage presence.”

Jaime blinks.  “Be careful, there, Legs, or I'm going to think you might be a fan.”

Brienne blushes then shrugs and picks up her sandwich.  “I'm a woman who's around your age.  Of course I had posters of you in my bedroom!  You were _the_ rock star of our generation.”

She takes a bite and smiles at him as she chews.

“Robert Baratheon would beg to differ with you on that,” Jaime says drily, putting down the ice pack and picking up his sandwich.  The left side of his face is bruised and swollen.

Brienne shrugs.  “Robert Baratheon's good, I'll admit, but he's really let himself go these last few years.”  She takes another bite of her sandwich.

“It happens,” Jaime mutters, taking a careful bite of his own sandwich, wincing at the pain in his jaw.

Brienne says, “Are you going to do that movie Addam told you about?”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “How did you know about that?”

“I am a private investigator, Jaime.”

Jaime rolls his eyes and she grins.

“I saw the script in the living room the other day, with Addam's post-it note.”

“Yeah?” he says, watching her with a raised eyebrow.

She nods.  “I read the script.  It's a fun little story.  Quirky, unpredictable, funny.  I think you should do it.”

He chuckles.  “I'm no actor.”

“You did a pretty good job in your music videos.  Besides, you'd be playing a rock star in a cameo role that lasts about fifteen seconds.  It's not like you're actually acting.”  She shrugs.  “You might enjoy it.”

He's silent as he stares at her.  She glances at him and frowns at the strange look in his eyes.

He blinks then smirks as he carefully reaches out and uses his thumb to wipe the corner of her mouth.

“Mustard,” he says softly before he licks his thumb clean.  “You think I should do this movie, huh?”

She blinks, taken aback at how the brush of his thumb seemed to burn her skin.

She swallows, and manages, “Yeah.”

He slowly grins.  “Okay,” he says, “I will.”

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne turns surprised blue eyes in his direction._

_“Did...did Megastar Jaime just flirt with PI Brienne?” she asks slowly._

_Jaime leans back in his chair and sighs.  “I'm not even surprised anymore.”_

*/*/*/*/*


	16. Chapter 16

*/*/*/*/*

They shut down the facility and return to Meereen in thoughtful silence.  Brienne follows Jaime into his suite where she's greeted by an ecstatic Pod.  His wiry body is a comfort as she hugs the little dog against her chest.

Jaime grabs two beers from the mini-fridge and hands her one before strolling to one of the couches and collapsing on it with a groan.

Brienne sits on the other couch and sighs as Pod curls up on her lap.

"I do wish we could have found one universe where things are simple," she says wistfully.

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  "What do you mean?  Megastar Jaime’s universe is pretty simple."

"Well, he was suspected of a murder, which still hasn’t been solved.”

“PI Brienne did clear his name.”

“That’s what I mean!  Every universe we've seen, it's been one crisis or another.  It seems to be what draws our counterparts together.  Even Farmer Brienne and Singer Jaime wouldn't be back in each other’s lives if his sister hadn't gotten married and he found out Farmer Brienne is on the verge of losing everything.  Can't there be a universe where...I don't know...they just meet and like each other?"

Jaime slowly grins, green eyes glittering.  "You mean like this one?"

She flushes.  "That wasn't—"

"Think about it, Junior:  I haven't been accused of murder; the world hasn't ended; we're not in a forced marriage; I'm not some successful singer while you're trying to keep food on the table for you and your sisters; I'm not a prisoner condemned to death and you're not the septa trying to save my soul.  Here, we're just two scientists living ordinary lives while trying to unravel the secrets of the universe.  Granted, we’re experiencing something extraordinary, but I wouldn’t call it a crisis, and we met long before any of this happened.”

She stares at him and slowly blinks.  "Yes," she says faintly, "yes, I suppose you're right."

Of course, she thinks bitterly, one of the universes where she has _absolutely no chance_ with Jaime is also one in which she knows some of her counterparts have very different experiences with him.

There really are gods, and they absolutely _adore_ throwing dice with the universe.

She glances up to find him watching her with a thoughtful gleam in his eyes.

"Well,” she blurts, “it doesn't mean anything.  Megastar Jaime flirting with PI Brienne, I mean.  It doesn't mean they're soul mates or anything."

"Well, that's a relief," Jaime drawls, "especially since I still don't believe in soul mates."

"Neither do I," Brienne mutters and takes a long drink of her beer.  She lowers the bottle and says, frowning, "You know, I think our experiments are actually proving soul mates _don't_ exist."

Jaime freezes, his own bottle half-way to his lips.  He blinks owlishly, then says, "How...how do you figure that?"

Brienne shrugs.  "I mean, yes, our paths have crossed in all the universes, but our counterparts haven't exactly been...it's not _love_ , Jaime."

Jaime's eyes narrow.  "Aren't you the one who told me that soul mates aren't necessarily romantic?"

"Yes, I did, and I still stand by it.  But just because our counterparts have crossed paths doesn't mean they're soul mates.  In fact..." she scowls and takes a gulp of her beer, "I'd say none of them are soul mates."

Jaime raises an eyebrow and leans back on the sofa.  "None of them?  You'll have to explain that one to me."

"Part of being soul mates is not just that they meet, but that they want to—and will—stay together.  Prisoner Jaime and Septa Brienne are never going to see each other again.  He's an escaped prisoner whose life is forfeit if he's ever caught.  Plus they only knew each for three days!  It's not like..." she hesitates then shakes her head.  "Anyway, they're done."

Jaime opens his mouth then seems to think twice and closes his mouth without saying anything.

Brienne says, "The Prince and Princess are married to each other against their will and are basically work colleagues who have sex because it’s in their job descriptions."

Jaime snickers. "Like porn stars?"

"With a lot less fake enthusiasm," Brienne says drily.  "They'll do their duty until Princess Brienne gives Prince Jaime enough heirs, and then they'll just...work together as King and Queen.  If they didn't have to be together, they wouldn't be.  That doesn't fit with the definition of soul mates."

Jaime's lips curve into a slight smile.  "Okay," he says, "but what about the Mad Jon universe?  The enthusiasm there is real enough."

"For now," she concedes, "but let's face it:  their world has ended and they could die at any moment.  Besides, it's not like it's going to last for long.  I mean, it's not like Mad Jon Brienne really _is_ the last woman on earth!  Tyene Sand is pretty gorgeous and obviously interested in Mad Jon Jaime.  It's only a matter of time before he decides to take her up on her offer.  So, again:  not soul mates."

"But in that case, you're basing your conclusion on facts not in evidence.  That’s not a very scientific attitude.  What about Farmer Brienne and Singer Jaime?"

Brienne snorts.  "Oh, please!  They've known each other their whole lives!  Best friends, yes, but he was gone for five years and if his sister hadn't gotten married, he would have just stayed gone.  Besides, if nothing happened between them before, it's not going to happen now.  And let's not forget:  Farmer Brienne is basically a single mother since she's raising her sisters, and Singer Jaime is an up-and-coming Southron music star!  He doesn't have time or the desire to be tied down with children!"

"Not when he could become Megastar Jaime?"

"Exactly!  And, of course, Megastar Jaime flirts with everyone who walks by, so it's not like his flirting with PI Brienne is anything more than just...his nature.  I mean, he was ready to fall into bed with Margaery Tyrell a few hours before he's swiping mustard off PI Brienne's face in the kitchen!  Besides, he's a hedonistic rock star who's probably had more sex in a week than most people see in their lifetimes!  PI Brienne has a very different attitude towards and experiences with sex.  Really, he's a much better match for Nymeria."  She takes another gulp of beer then nods.  "See?  None of them are soul mates."

He stares at her for long moments, his face so expressionless, she starts to worry he isn't going to believe her.

"Right," he finally says, and relief floods through her as he drinks his beer.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime pulls the car to a stop in front of Brienne's house and turns to look at her.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says.

She nods.  “Lots of data to analyze,” she says as she gets out of the car.

He smiles as she opens the back seat to grab her small suitcase and Pod in his carrier.

"Right," Jaime says, “we really do need to focus on the data.”

She pauses, giving him a puzzled frown then closes the car door.  He watches as she walks up the sidewalk to her house.  She opens the door then turns and waves at Jaime, who lifts his own hand in farewell and drives away.

*/*/*/*/*

To Jaime's surprise, Tyrion is alone when Jaime walks in.

“Enjoy your time in the sun?” Tyrion asks.

“It was...illuminating,” Jaime says.  “No pun intended.”

Tyrion grins, then sobers.  “Well, glad you had a good time.”

Jaime frowns.  “What's happened?”

“Taena called.  Wants you to call her back.”

He frowns.  “Taena?  Not her lawyer?”

Tyrion shrugs.  “'Twas the lady herself.  She said she couldn't get through on your cell phone.  I told her I'd give you the message.”

*/*/*/*/*

Taena begs to see him the next day at the house.  He reluctantly agrees and wonders what the woman is planning.

Tyrion simply looks resigned when Jaime tells him.

Jaime scowls.  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I'd rather not say, especially since Taena will be back in your bed before the end of the day tomorrow.”

Jaime's jaw drops.  “She will not!”

Tyrion rolls his eyes.  “You've forgiven that woman everything she's ever done.  I'll admit, this is the longest you've ever stayed separated, but I think that's more to Brienne's credit than yours.”

Jaime's eyes widen in sudden panic.  “Brienne?  Why Brienne?  What has she done?”

Tyrion snorts.  “You mean besides keeping your mind distracted by all these experiments you've been doing?”

“Oh.  Right.  The experiments.”

Tyrion's eyes narrow then widen.  “Oh, my gods!”

“Oh my gods, what?” Jaime says, trying for innocence but even he knows he sounds defensive.

Tyrion begins chortling.  “I'll admit, I've had my suspicions in the past—you spend more time with her than anyone else, plus all that working out and working late and getting together to watch your sports teams and movies on TV—but I never thought I'd live to see the day you would move past Taena!”

“I'm not—I still love Taena!”

“Mayhaps a part of you still does,” Tyrion says with a grin, “but for the first time in years, I have hope that the rest of you has moved on.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime meets Brienne for their morning workout and finds himself watching her long legs as they run on the treadmills.  To his disappointment, he can't see much through her baggy sweats, then he wonders when he became such a creeper. 

Afterwards, they grab breakfast before they go to their university office to work.  They're in the middle of arguing over the data comparison between Meereen and the Wall when Jaime's phone rings.

He glances at the time then curses as he scrambles for the phone.

He looks at Brienne and feels... _guilty_.

“Yeah,” he says into the phone, his gaze still locked with Brienne's.

“Where are you, Jaime?  I've been waiting for thirty minutes!”

“Right,” he sighs, finally looking away from Brienne as he pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Sorry, Taena.  We got caught up in our experiments and I lost track of time.”

“And you wonder what went wrong,” Taena snarls.

“I can leave right now—”

But he's talking to dead air.

He stares at his phone for a long moment then glances at Brienne, who's watching him with embarrassed sympathy.

He sighs.  “I was supposed to meet her at the house a half hour ago.”  He shrugs.  “I forgot.”

Brienne frowns.  “You forgot?  That's not like you.”

He scowls down at his phone.  Brienne's right.  He knows he has to accept his own part in his failed relationship with Taena—he does get lost when he's working; mayhaps he could have been more supportive of her; spent more time with her; listened more to her—but regardless of what Taena just said, this is the first time he actually forgot she was waiting for him...and he can't bring himself to feel more than what he would feel for anyone else he inadvertently stood up for a date.

His frown deepens at the thought.  It's only been six weeks since he walked in on Taena and her Kettleblack...and he's not even angry anymore.  Sad, yes, but not angry, and...

He glances at Brienne, who's watching him like she's waiting for him to start throwing things or swearing or sobbing or _something_.

It makes him want to laugh, because all he's really feeling is _relieved_.

*/*/*/*/*

He's surprised when Brienne isn't pleased when he explains it all to her that evening.  They're sprawled on her couch with coffees at their elbows after taking Pod for a long walk and then eating supper.

“Jaime, that's not like you,” she says again.

He shrugs.  “People forget things sometimes.”

“That's not what I mean.  I mean...if there's one thing I've known about you since the day we met is that _you love Taena_.  You've always been devoted to her, dropping everything in order to give her anything she asked of you.  This...forgetting that you were supposed to meet her?  That's...”

He scowls.  “That's what?”

“That's something Megastar Jaime might have done,” she whispers.

“Megastar Jaime never forgot anything when it came to his Taena,” he snaps.  “He was devoted to that woman—why do you think he went on a bender when she left him?  Don't let his reputation fool you.”

“Right,” she mutters, “sorry.”

Jaime sighs and scrubs his hands over his face.

“I'm not suddenly acting like any of the other Jaimes,” he says softly, “just like you're not acting like the other Briennes.”

“I wasn't—”

“You were.  You are.  I get it, Brienne.  We have all these other memories and emotions in our heads, and we've been affected before by the things happening in the other universes.  You have good reason to be concerned because of course we need to be careful not to lose sight of who _we_ are.”

She's staring at him, her eyes wide and dark with worry.

“I know who I am, Brienne,” he says firmly.  “I know what I feel, and it's different from what the other Jaimes feel.”  He leans closer, his gaze intent on her face.  “Are you having trouble?”

She blinks those remarkable eyes then shakes her head.  “I know who I am,” she almost whispers then she glances away.

They sit in silence then Brienne says, tentatively, “You seem to have come to terms with what happened with Taena very quickly...”

“Well, that I _will_ blame on the other universes,” he says.

That gets her look at him again, albeit with a frown.

He grins.  “We've lived five other lives in the last few weeks—and both the Prince and Princess, and the Mad Jon universes were a couple of months!  I know it's only been six weeks here, but...” He shakes his head.  “It feels like _much_ more time than that has passed.”

“I guess these universes are aging us ahead of our time, huh?”

Jaime laughs.  “That's one way of putting it!”

*/*/*/*/*

Tyrion's watching some loud action movie when Jaime finally gets home.  He glances at Jaime with surprise.

“I wasn't expecting you to come for your stuff until tomorrow,” he says.

Jaime frowns, confused, then shakes his head. 

“I'm not going anywhere,” Jaime says as he wanders to the kitchen.  He grabs a beer of his own then joins his brother on the couch.

He puts his feet up on the coffee table and frowns at the explosions on the screen the leading man and his love interest miraculously escape in order to race away to safety.  He takes a long drink of beer, wondering how long it'll take before Tyrion's curiosity gets the better of him.

To his surprise, Tyrion makes it to a commercial break before finally asking, “What happened with Taena?”

“I forgot I was meeting her.”

Tyrion's head jerks round so fast Jaime half-expects it to fly off his shoulders.

“You _forgot_?” Tyrion practically squeaks.  “You forgot _Taena_?”

Jaime shrugs.  “We were arguing physics.  I lost track of time, and Taena decided she wasn't going to be forgiving.”

“Huh,” Tyrion says, staring at him like he'd never seen him before.  “I don't know if that was deliberate or not...but I, for one, am glad you're still free for another day.”

Jaime rolls his eyes.  “Shut up,” he says mildly, “I'm trying to watch a movie.”

*/*/*/*/*

The days speed by, filled with physics and data, equations and Brienne.  Jaime spends his time analyzing data, teasing his Junior, and mulling over her concerns that he may lose track of which Jaime is which.

He feels the memories and emotions of all those other Jaimes, yes, but he knows exactly who he is.  He knows exactly what he feels and thinks.  He _does_.

He knows his history, his relationship with Taena, his bond with Tyrion, his complicated relationship with his father which, in turn, complicates his relationship with his mother.  He knows exactly who he is and where he's come from.

He knows every choice he made to end up where he is now.  He remembers the day Brienne walked in the door.  Tall, mannish, with a face that could be called plain if one was being kind.  Her freckles had freckles, for gods' sake.  Dr. Mormont was being even more of a bear than ever until Jaime stepped in and put a stop to it.  Even then she stuttered and stumbled over her words until Jaime dared to mock the integrity of her research and then her eyes sparked and the words flowed, and by the end of that first meeting, he was desperate to work with her to discover empirical evidence of the multiverse.

If he only knew then what he knows now...

Who's he kidding?  He'd make the same damn decision.  He wouldn’t have missed a minute of his time with Brienne for anything.

He glances up as Brienne walks into the living room with a bowl of popcorn and a couple bottles of soft drinks.  He smiles as she sits beside him and they start the movie, Pod stretched out between them, straggly tail wagging.

He knows who he is, Jaime thinks as she looks over at him.  He drowns in her eyes, which are truly gorgeous no matter which universe they're in.  She gives him a puzzled smile before turning her attention to the opening credits of the latest action blockbuster they didn’t have time to see in the theatre.

He knows who he is, and, he realizes with some surprise, he knows what he wants.

Now he just has to figure out how to get it.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne's at Tyrion's house, Jaime having insisted on cooking for her for once, when Tyrion's curiosity finally gets the better of him.

“What are all these experiments about anyway?” he says.

Jaime and Brienne exchange a glance, then Jaime says, “We're trying to find empirical evidence to prove we live in a multiverse.”

Tyrion rolls his eyes.  “I've known that for the last couple years,” he says drily.  “You two can't be in the same room without starting to argue about string theory and multiple dimensions and blah blah blah.  But the last few weeks, you've been frantically running to the Wall and back and then to Meereen and you've been virtually inseparable ever since your first set of experiments.  What's been going on?”

Brienne looks stricken as Jaime says, very carefully, “We've been making progress, yes.”

Tyrion's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.  “Fine, don't tell me,” he huffs in mock-offense.

“I'm sorry, Tyrion,” Brienne says quickly, “it's just...well.  You know what it's like in the publish-or-perish kind of world we live in.”

“I understand,” Tyrion says with a sigh.  “But remember:  I'm not a physicist; I'm a biologist—it's not like I would understand enough of your science to steal it.”

Brienne's eyes widen in sudden inspiration.  “Tyrion—do you know anybody who's a neuroscientist?”

Tyrion blinks.  “What?”

Jaime frowns.  “Brienne?  What are you thinking?”

Brienne looks at him, her eyes sparkling like sapphires.  “Brain scans, Jaime.”

His own eyes widen and his mouth slowly sags open.

“Brilliant,” he whispers.

“If somebody doesn't start telling me what's so fucking brilliant about brain scans, I will not be responsible for my actions,” Tyrion growls and Jaime laughs.

“Should we tell him?” Jaime says to Brienne.

She chews on her bottom lip and Jaime's breath catches in his throat.  He sways towards her, but catches himself.  To his relief—and disappointment—she doesn't notice.

“Maybe we should tell him,” she says slowly.

“Anytime,” Tyrion says drily.

“This is going to sound crazy,” Jaime warns.

“Try me.”

Brienne takes a deep breath and begins to be speak.

*/*/*/*/*

Tyrion is disbelieving at first, then intrigued.  He argues and cajoles and offers bribes, but they adamantly refuse to take him with them to the Wall.  He finally gives up the fight but agrees to help them anyway.

Thanks to Tyrion's connections, they find somebody willing to rent them portable brain scanning equipment and to teach them how to use it.  Tyrion laughs—a lot—when he sees them in their electrode caps but he still helps them practice with the equipment and establish their baseline scans.

And posts the pictures online.

“Do you really think these scans will show anything?” Tyrion asks.

Jaime and Brienne exchange grins and shrug. 

“We won't know until we try,” Jaime says.  “Isn't that what science is all about?”

*/*/*/*/*

Seven weeks after their return from Meereen, Jaime and Brienne, with a forlorn Pod locked in his carrier, arrive in Castle Black.

*/*/*/*/*


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   Non-graphic descriptions of violence and attempted rape.  Mentions of physical injuries and blood.
> 
> **A/N:**   We’re heading towards the end of this fic, and this chapter took longer than usual both because of pacing issues and because I actually intended this chapter to deal with a completely different universe and changed my mind at the last minute…because of those pacing issues.  *throws up my hands in frustration*

 

***/*/*/*/***

Jaime hands Brienne the remote for the TV and collapses on the couch beside her, his shoulder bumping against hers.  Brienne shifts a little.  Jaime's sense of personal space has always been less defined than her own, but she's starting to wonder if it's as unconscious as it seems.

Not that she really noticed until last night.  They were at Tyrion's, making last minute plans, and Jaime had done this exact same thing, flopping on the couch beside her, his shoulder touching hers.  She took the beer Jaime offered her, then turned in time to catch Tyrion hiding a knowing grin behind his own beer.

Which, of course, makes it Tyrion's fault that she's suddenly hyper-aware of how close Jaime is, how his shoulder brushing lightly against hers, how she imagines the heat of his well-muscled thigh is leaping across the small space between them and warming the denim on her own leg.

Jaime glances at her from the corner of his eyes and smirks.

“Not interested in TV tonight?” and Brienne swears he's practically purring.  A flush climbs over her shoulders and neck and into her cheeks.

She clears her throat.  “I'm just nervous,” she says, and Jaime grins, angling himself so he can fully face her.

“What are you nervous about?” he says and she rolls her eyes at his teasing even as her flush deepens.

“I'm nervous about the brain scans tomorrow.”

Now he looks surprised and maybe a little disappointed. 

“The brain scans?”

She nods.  “I'm nervous about what they might show...or not show.  And whether our more...violent universes will have an impact.”

“I'm sure they will,” he says calmly, “but remember, we're only connected to the universes for five seconds in our world.  Our current equipment may not even catch anything.  


“True,” she sighs and frowns, turning her attention to the television and clicking it on.  Pod jumps on the couch and curls up on the other side of her and she absently pets him.

“What are you thinking?” Jaime murmurs.

She glances at him, and his eyes are warm even if his expression is rueful.

“Let's start with the Prisoner Jaime/Septa Brienne universe,” she says.

He raises an eyebrow.  “Why?”

“Because they've gone their separate ways.”

His eyebrow lifts higher.  “And?”

“And this way we can set a baseline for when our counterparts are apart, compared to our baseline here, and in comparison to the other universes, where our counterparts are together or where they’re together for now but will eventually part.”

Jaime's face drains of expression although—her eyes narrow with suspicion—she suspects he's laughing at her behind his bland exterior.

“In that case, I'm not sure it matters which one we begin with?” he murmurs.

“Fine,” she snaps, “it's because it's the only one where our counterparts aren't together.  We won't have to worry about sex.”

“At least with each other,” Jaime agrees.

Brienne flushes again.  “Right,” she mutters.

Jaime shrugs and turns back towards the television.

“I'm okay with starting with the Prisoner/Septa universe.  We only have the Wall for five nights and then there's no more time on the schedule for six months—and I don’t know about you, but I’ve used up every favour my colleagues owed me in order to get these next five days.”

“Me too,” Brienne mutters.

“We need to make this count.”

Brienne nods.  “Well, let's hope the brain scans prove something's physically happening to us,” she mutters and restlessly clicks through the channels on the TV.

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne gingerly takes her seat on her chair, careful to keep the wires snaking from her skull cap to the brain scanning equipment straight and loose._

_Jaime glances over at her and she glowers at him because even with his own skull cap, dotted with electrodes and with wires leading to his own brain scanning equipment, he looks..._

_All right, he looks ridiculous—Brienne bites back an urge to laugh—but he also still looks undeniably handsome._

_He gives her a haughty look.  “This is the latest fashion from Essos,” he says with a sniff, and now she does laugh._

_“I've seen some of that high fashion,” she says with a grin.  “I almost believe you.”_

_He grins and winks.  “Let's get going, Junior.”_

_She nods and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Hyle Hunt and Ronnet Connington escort her to Judge Randyll Tarly's quarters, where they wake him and tell him the prisoner due to be hanged that morning has escaped.

The Hanging Judge immediately sends out search parties then turns his attention to her.  His eyes are coldly triumphant.

“Whip her.  Twenty lashes.  Then take her to King's Landing.  Let the High Septon pass the final sentence.”  He rakes her from head to toe, his lips twisted with disgust.  “I don't care what else you do to her so long as I don't ever have to see her again and she's still alive when you deliver her to the Great Sept.”

*/*/*/*/*

Ronnet Connington takes perverse pleasure in stripping her of her septa’s robe, then ripping her shirt, leaving her topless.  He laughs derisively at her small breasts, then whips her bare back himself.  She gives him the screams and tears he seems to relish as the lash bites into her flesh.

Hunt tries to force himself on her immediately after, cursing as he fumbles at her breeches.  She supposes he thought she would be weakened from the pain of the lashes or mayhaps he took her tears as a sign of her broken spirit.  She immediately breaks his arm and nose and Brienne sincerely hopes he'll be pissing blood for at least a week as she drives her knee into his groin and leaves him writhing in agony on the floor.

That earns her a beating, but Connington, at least, has no desire to rape her.  He tells she's too ugly for him and she laughs in his face at the idea that such an insult is supposed to matter to her.  He glares at that, but the two other guards who had held her immobile while Connington rained his blows against her have already freed her.  Even Connington knows better than to attack her without help, even if she’s bruised and bleeding and aching.

“You never deserved to wear that septa's robe,” Connington spits then jerks his head at the other guards.  “Get her on the cart.  We're leaving.”

*/*/*/*/*

Not even two hours after Jaime Lannister made good his escape from the noose, Brienne—bloodied and aching, in somebody else’s filthy shirt—is a prisoner herself and on her way to King's Landing.

*/*/*/*/*

Connington sends a telegram to the High Septon from the first town they stop in.  They continue on, and when they finally stop for the night, they strip her of her septa's robes and lock her in a room at that town’s only inn. 

She drags what she can in front of the door to prevent—or at least slow—the other two guards from reaching her if they take it into their heads to work together to rape her. 

Once her door is as secure as she can make it, she gingerly, painfully cleans those of her wounds she can reach, shivering at the chill air of the room against her naked flesh.  Once she’s cleaned herself, she washes as much of the filth and blood as she can from her borrowed shirt before she, still in her breeches, carefully slides beneath the blankets on the bed.  She feels a vague sense of guilt at the bloodstains she’ll be leaving on the bedding from the wounds on her naked back.

The aching pain from her bruises and cuts, aggravated by the uncomfortable cart ride, as well as her distrust of her guards, makes her unable to sleep except in fits and starts, waking at every sound.  When the sun finally rises, she’s sore and heavy-eyed, her body aching.

She dresses in her still-damp shirt then moves the furniture she had used to block the door and tries the handle.  To her surprise, it opens easily and she’s puzzled as she limps from the room and down the stairs.  She pokes her bruised and swollen face into the tap room, looking for her captors.  The inn’s proprietor catches sight of her and hurries to meet her, a scowl on his fleshy face.

“Where are the men who were with me last night?” she asks as the proprietor leads her to the front desk.

The man pulls out two telegrams from a mail slot and holds them out to her as he says, “Your companions are already gone.”

He nervously takes in her size and her bruised and swollen features as Brienne takes the telegrams from his hand with a puzzled air.

“Gone?”

“Something's happening at the prison,” he says.  “A telegram arrived late last night, calling them back immediately.”  He licks his lips and leans closer.  “It sounded like the prisoners are rioting.”  His voice is pitched low, and Brienne thinks that even a day's journey from the prison isn't far enough away from the reach of the Hanging Judge.

“And me?” she asks blankly.

The proprietor shrugs then nods at the telegrams.  “The first one was addressed to your companions, but they're gone, so...”

Brienne looks at the first telegram.  It's from the High Septon, telling Connington the High Septon strips her, Septa Brienne Tarth, of her septa's robes and her vocation and she is no longer welcome in King's Landing, the Great Sept of Baelor, and especially not in his presence.  It ends with him telling her guards to ' _do with her as they will_ '.

A chill shivers down her spine.

“When did this telegram arrive?” she asks.

“An hour after your companions left, m'lady.”

She blinks at the title, something she hasn't heard directed towards her since she left Tarth to become a septa.  She assumes it's something the proprietor uses for all women with an educated accent...until she reads the second telegram.  She glances up at the man.

“That one arrived a few minutes before you came downstairs,” he explains, nervously wringing his hands.

Her own hands tremble as she reads the words again.

“Money is being wired today.  Stop.  Come home.  Stop.  Father.”

It takes all her willpower to wait until she's in her room before her tears fall.

*/*/*/*/*

Stripped of vocation and position, Brienne returns to Tarth.  Her mother and sisters weep at her hideous scar, her twice-more-broken nose, and her still-healing face and back.  Her father and brother grit their teeth, their Tarth-blue eyes sparking with murderous rage even as her father tells her that something happened at the prison and someone there had sent him a telegram, telling him where she was, which is how he knew where to find her.  He also tells her that the Hanging Judge should, by now, be in King’s Landing, answering directly to the young King.

She doesn't ask what happened that the Hanging Judge needs to answer for.

She doesn't ask about Jaime.

She doesn't want to know.

*/*/*/*/*

The days pass, Brienne's body heals, and she slowly, cautiously, relaxes into the safety and love of her family.  Her father tries and fails to hide his elation that she is no longer tied to a celibate order of septas.  He tells her several weeks after she arrived home that he never thought she had been truly happy with that life.

She had been, though, she tells herself as she walks the island, or as happy as she had any right to be.  No matter what Judge Tarly had done, no matter what the High Septon had intended, she had been _useful_ as a septa ministering to the condemned.  At the very least, she had no longer been a burden on her parents and her brother and sisters.

If it hadn't been for Jaime Lannister...if she hadn't helped him escape...

She would have continued existing in that hellish prison until they finally succeeded in breaking her.

She doesn't know if she's grateful to Jaime or if she should hate him for disrupting her life, for simply being that honey-voiced man, beautiful even beneath his shaggy hair and rags and filth.

Not that any of it matters.  She gave him the chance he needed.  He took it and she will never see him again.

*/*/*/*/*

During her days, she finds herself praying for Jaime's safety and that Judge Tarly's men never found him.  She prays even more fervently for both his soul and her own.

But at night, in her dreams, she hears Jaime's deep, honeyed voice telling her things he never said.  In her dreams, he tells her she was never meant to be a septa, that she is as much a woman as any other, that she was meant for a man's touch.  In her dreams, his voice strokes across her skin, leaving fire and aching longing in its wake.  She only has a vague understanding of what she's longing for, but she has heard enough confessions to know the pleasures of the flesh are strong temptations indeed and that what Hyle Hunt had tried to do to her is a perversion of the act.  Even so, what dream-Jaime's words do to her body must surely come directly from one of the Seven Hells to set her so aflame.

When she wakes, soaked in sweat with her body yearning for something she will never have, she prays even more fervently to forget his voice.

*/*/*/*/*

Three months after Jaime's escape, a little boy runs up and plants himself in her path as she strolls through Evenfall Town, forcing her to stop in her tracks.

She gives the boy a quizzical smile.

"The man asked me to give this to you," the child blurts and holds out a folded piece of paper, sealed with wax.

"Oh?" Brienne says, surprised as she takes the note.  "What man?"

The child shrugs and holds out his hand.  She digs for a copper star and drops it in the dirty hand then watches, bemused, as the boy scampers away.  She shakes her head, a small smile on her face, as she turns her attention to the note.  Mayhaps a note from the High Septon, she thinks for a terrified moment, but the paper is not near fine enough and the wax that seals the paper together is stamped only with a thumbprint and not a sigil.

A smallfolk who needs succor, she decides, and is desperate enough to beg it even from a disgraced septa.

She breaks the seal and reads:

_Brienne,_

_I find I cannot bring myself to call you septa, mayhaps because I stopped seeing you as a septa during those two long nights you tried to save my soul.  Or mayhaps it's because of the way you glowed while bathed in moonlight._

_I hope you will not long mourn for the loss of your septa’s robes or the loss of your position, providing last words of comfort to condemned men in that hellish prison.  I think you will find life on your Sapphire Isle will suit you better.  Do not lose heart, Brienne:  love and adventure still awaits you; you only need to recognize it when it finds you._

The note is unsigned, not that it needs it.  She crumples the paper in her hand then hastily smooths it out and daintily refolds it.  Her hands shake as she carefully tucks it into her pocket and hurries back to her rooms at Evenfall Hall.

She reads it again, chewing on her bottom lip.  She doesn't know what to think.  It's dated the day after Jaime's escape and she wonders how he knew, even then, that she was on her way home.  She wonders who the man was who told the child to deliver the note to her.

For a moment, her heart leaps at the idea that Jaime might have been on Tarth before she pushes the thought away.  He has no need to be on Tarth, and he cannot dare to be near her, because—despite it all—she would be honor-bound to turn him in to her father.

She flattens the note, and slides her finger across the words.

How did he know she is no longer a septa?  How did he know she had come home to Tarth?

Can she trust this note?  Can she trust it is real, written in Jaime's hand and not some cruel jape from someone who has learned a version of the story?  Hyle Hunt was there that night in the river, as was Ronnet Connington.  Neither man has reason to be kind to her.

Yet...

What does it hurt if she believes this note is truly from Jaime?  No one need know she longs for a man she only knew for three or four days, a man who had been sentenced to hang.

It would be amusing if it weren't so pathetic.

She carefully refolds the note and hides it amongst her smallclothes.

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne turns to Jaime with a scowl._

_“What was the point of that note?” she snaps._

_Jaime's eyes widen then narrow.  “How much time has passed for you?” he asks._

_She frowns.  “Three months.”_

_He relaxes.  “Same with me,” he says then frowns again. “Which note?”_

_Brienne's eyes widen.  “Which note?  How many did you send?”_

_“Prisoner Jaime sent them—and I'm not telling you!”_

_She glares.  “The one dated the day after Prisoner Jaime's escape.”_

_Jaime looks surprised.  “Well, that took longer than expected,” he mutters._

_Brienne's eyes narrow.  “What is Prisoner Jaime up to?  Where is he?”_

_Jaime gives her a bland smile—or as bland as it can be when his head is covered with a plastic cap and electrodes.  “He's busy,” he says.  “Now, get the generators powering up, Junior, and we'll take a look at the brain scans while we're waiting.”_

_Brienne grumbles but obeys.  As she works, she hears Jaime's surprised grunt beside her._

_She looks over to find him frowning at the computer reading on his brain scan machine._

_“What?” she asks._

_He sighs.  “Well, the scan proves something's happening,” he says, “but we'll need to let somebody else tell us what it is.”_

_She scowls and rolls her chair over to him, being careful not to tug at the wires streaming out of her own electrode-studded skull cap._

_She leans against Jaime’s shoulder, peering intently at the computer screen._

_She sees Jaime's baseline reading, and then..._

_She mutters, “It's like...”_

_“Like three months’ worth of brain waves recorded in five seconds?”_

_“...yeah...”_

*/*/*/*/*

_Her own brain scan reveals the same results._

_They make their notes, talk about the brain scans and when the computer pings to let them know the generators are back at full power, they almost eagerly put down their pens and push aside their laptops._

_“Ready, Junior?” Jaime says._

_She nods, and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

In the days after she received the note, Brienne finds herself remembering every moment they spent together, everything they spoke on.  She remembers him telling her he had killed a man while stopping a rape. 

She knows Judge Tarly believed her a fool, that Jaime had tricked her in order to escape...but she had given Jaime his chance because she had believed him.

She can't bring herself to regret her decision even as her conscience whispers in her ear:  _what of those other men?  What of all those other men you prayed with, who told you they were innocent?  What of all those other men you escorted to the gallows, praying for their souls with each step?_

She goes to the sept each day to pray and wonders where Jaime is now.

She wonders how she will learn to live with her conscience.

*/*/*/*/*

She takes the note out of the drawer every now and then, reads the words and hears his deep voice speaking them.  She wistfully hopes he really sent it.  It gives some colour to her colourless albeit busy days.

She is not _unhappy_.  She had missed her father and mother, her sisters and her brother.  She had missed Tarth and its slow and beautifully peaceful days.

But she is drifting, trying to understand her role now.  Trying to find a purpose.

Alysanne is soon to be married, and Galladon is wooing Shireen Baratheon, granddaughter of the Royal Governor of the Stormlands, Steffon Baratheon.  Galladon teases Brienne unmercifully, although she catches him occasionally glaring at the scar on her face, stark grief in his eyes.

She takes him to the beach below Evenfall Hall, the same beach where they had played so often as children.  As they stroll along the sand, she tells him how she acquired the scar on her face and assures him the man is dead.

“That doesn't make me feel better,” Galladon growls in response.  “You never should have been in such a situation in the first place.  And if you were, I should have been the one there to protect you.”

“You did protect me, Galladon,” she says.  “You taught me to fight, and that has saved my life more times than I care to remember.”  She spares a fleeting thought for Hyle Hunt.  She rather hopes she managed to geld him, then sends a prayer to the Father begging forgiveness for her cruel thoughts.

“That doesn't make me feel better, sweet sister,” Galladon says.

“Look at me,” she says with a smile.  “I can defend myself.”  She touches her ravaged cheek and grimaces.  “Even if I get a little battered and scarred in the process.”

Galladon turns to her and grasps her shoulders.  “To me, you will always be that little wide-eyed girl who kept me in line even as you loved me without question.  You are my little sister and I never should have allowed you to leave for King's Landing.”

She gives him a fierce hug.  “As if you could have stopped me,” she whispers in his ear and he laughs.

“I'm glad you're back, Brienne,” he says as he hugs her close.  “I'm glad you're safe now.”

*/*/*/*/*

The days drift by.

News from the mainland arrives by ship and by telegram:  the young King has begun to punish those in his kingdom who refuse to follow his new decrees.  There are whispers in the streets and taverns, the bathhouses and the marketplaces, telling of uprisings and soldiers and battles, and rumors that the man called the Kingslayer, exiled fifteen years before and forgotten, has returned to Westeros.

The Kingslayer is back, the whispers say, and he is riding to enforce his nephew's edicts throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

Brienne's father speaks of it at their dining table one night.

“I've received a telegram from King's Landing,” he says as he methodically demolishes the food on his plate.  “The rumors are true.  The Kingslayer is back.”

Brienne frowns.  “Where had he been?” she asks. 

She vaguely remembers the stories, how the Kingslayer had shot the King in the back and gave the Throne to the King’s daughter, Princess Shaena.  The Kingslayer’s brother, Tyrion, was married to the new Queen, and now acts as Hand of the King to his young son, who ascended the throne after the Queen died in child-birth four years earlier.  The young King is only thirteen but is, by all accounts, a good-hearted boy advised by good-hearted men.

Except when it comes to Judge Randyll Tarly's prison, Brienne thinks then pushes her bitterness away.

Her father shrugs, his eyes on his plate as he continues eating.  “Who knows?  Essos, or Dorne, or the Summer Isles, or mayhaps even north of the Wall.  It matters not:  he's back now.”  He chews a piece of beef then says, “The rumors are his brother sent for him, begging his help.”

“You sound pleased,” Arianne says.

“I am,” Selwyn says.  “The King is young, yes, but his edicts have been reasoned and pragmatic, beneficial mainly to the smallfolk of the realm.  Those who resist the edicts do so because they feel their own power and wealth are being undermined, and don’t understand that there is more opportunity given the new edicts than they understand.”  Selwyn lifts his gaze from his plate and looks at Brienne.  “The High Septon has been removed from his position.”

Brienne drops her knife and fork with a clatter.  “ _What?_   The young King has no authority—”

“The young King has friends in the Faith, those who wish to see reforms to the religion to improve how it treats the smallfolk it pretends to serve.”  Selwyn's smile is slight.  “There is a new High Septon, one who was replaced by the septons and septas who descended upon King's Landing at the young King's request to make that very decision.”

“Will you go to King's Landing and beg to have your septa's robes returned to you?” Alysanne asks Brienne.

All eyes turn to Brienne.

She could, she realizes.  She could make her way to King's Landing, beg the new High Septon to be returned to her order, beg to be sent out to provide succor to the smallfolk, as she had always hoped.

Then she remembers the words in the note she received weeks ago:

_Do not lose heart.  Love and adventure still awaits you; you only need to recognize it when it finds you._

She blinks and looks at her family.

She knows Jaime was not speaking of himself, knows it would not occur to him that she would think he could mean himself.

Yet she believes the words nonetheless.

“No,” she says, very quietly, then, more strongly, “no.”

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne blinks at the computer screens and turns to Jaime._

_“You're the Kingslayer?” she snaps._

_He raises an eyebrow.  “How much time has passed for you?” he asks mildly._

_She scowls, thinking.  “Four weeks.”_

_He nods.  “Same with me,” he says, scribbling notes._

_“What is Prisoner Jaime doing?  Where is he?  He really is the Kingslayer, isn’t he?”_

_Jaime glances up at her and smirks._

_“Get the generators powering up, Junior,” he says, then cocks his head, his smile warmly teasing.  “And you look absolutely adorable with that ugly skull cap on your head and that scowl on your face.”_

_“Shut up,” she mutters, flushing as she turns away._

*/*/*/*/*

_The brain scans once again show intense activity for the five seconds they were connected to the other universe and Jaime nods with satisfaction._

_“Well, this should at least prove there's actually something physiological going on,” he says._

_Brienne shakes her head.  “When we go public with this...”_

_Jaime gives her a rueful look.  “We can't seem to influence or control our counterparts,” he says.  “At least that's something.”_

_She frowns and nods._

*/*/*/*/*

_They work in silence, mainly because Jaime continues to refuse to tell Brienne anything about what Prisoner Jaime has been doing since his escape, saying only that he’s been busy.  He also doesn't confirm Prisoner Jaime is the Kingslayer._

_“Since we can't influence or control our counterparts,” she wheedles, “then you can tell me.”_

_The computer pings and Jaime grins._

_“I want you to be surprised,” he murmurs, and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

A couple weeks later, her mother tentatively suggests arranging a marriage for her and Brienne, to her own surprise, promises to consider it.  She strolls through Evenfall Town, mulling the idea over.  She needs must do _something_ , especially now she has rejected the possibility of becoming a septa again.  Galladon announced his engagement to Shireen Baratheon two days before, and both families are well-pleased with the arrangement.  She could, Brienne supposes, stay and be septa in role if not title to her siblings' future children.

Some days, she's not even sure she truly regrets being stripped of her septa's robe.  Her time in the Faith was not… _enjoyable_.  Yet she needs must do _something_ with her life…but _marriage?_ With her mannish form and her scarred and ugly face?

She remembers the sneer on Hyle Hunt's face as he tried to force himself upon her at the prison.  She thinks of her three failed betrothals, the last of which had driven her to the Faith and a life of pious service.

Then she remembers Jaime Lannister and the heat he stirred in her belly simply from the way he looked at her and the tone of his voice.  It was done to manipulate her, yes; done simply to win his freedom, true.  But it had also shown her she still has a woman's hungers, a woman's desires, despite her mannish body and ugly face.

But can she—or her mother—find a man who is willing to overlook her shortcomings and who also kindles a heat in her own belly?

She skims her fingers over the scar on her cheek and deflates.

Unlikely, she thinks, and turns her feet back to Evenfall Hall.

She doesn't go more than a dozen steps before a dirty urchin steps in her path.

"Lady Brienne?" she says and holds out a folded piece of paper sealed with wax.  "I have a note for you."

*/*/*/*/*

This time Brienne waits until she's safely in her room before she breaks the seal.  She wants to keep the delicious hope that's been tickling her stomach alive because she _knows_ it cannot again be from Jaime. 

But she knows it can't be, and it is most likely someone begging for her father's favour.  If they’re desperate enough to send her a note, then she needs must find out what it is and do what she can to help.

She sighs and opens it.

Her heart leaps into her throat when she immediately recognizes the handwriting.  She sees it's dated two weeks after Jaime's escape as she eagerly scans the words:

_Brienne,_

_I hope you are enjoying your time on your Sapphire Isle.  You seem made to walk lonely beaches, bathed in sunlight as waves lap your feet._

_I know what the Hanging Judge and his men did to you.  Be assured, they will pay.  I will see to it.  Personally._

_Rest.  Heal.  Allow yourself the same forgiveness you offered to the men you counselled while you worked in that prison; allow yourself the same understanding you offered me._

_Love and adventure can still be yours, Brienne.  You just need to be patient and have faith._

_*/*/*/*/*_

Over the next several weeks, more notes arrive.  Each one is dated closer to the current day, and tells her small snippets of the fates of Judge Tarly (“ _he is enjoying the young King's hospitality, deep in the black cells of the Red Keep_ ”), Hyle Hunt (“ _he's been sent to the Wall; it is not a kind fate_ ”) and Ronnet Connington (“ _his jaw was broken when he tried to escape the custody of the young King's men._ ”)

The notes are all short.  They lack the details Brienne craves and fail to explain where, exactly, Jaime is, or how he knows the information he shares with her.  The only comfort she can truly draw is that he's safe...or at least he was three weeks ago, which is the date of the last note she's received.

Her mother notices her distraction.

“Will you tell me?” she asks one early afternoon as they stroll along the beach in front of Evenfall Hall.

Brienne flushes, nervously stroking her scarred cheek.

“It's a man, of that I am sure,” her mother says with a gentle smile and Brienne's flush deepens.  “Mayhaps the man who escaped your custody?”

“How—?  Why would you think that?”

Her mother stops and looks at her, her eyes soft.  She reaches up and cups Brienne's scarred cheek.

“For two reasons.  First, you have a soft heart, Brienne, but you are one of the strongest people I know.  That man would never have convinced you to take him to the river if your feelings hadn't blinded you.”

“I wasn't blinded, Mother.  I knew what he intended.”

Her mother smiles.  “That proves my point,” she says.

Brienne frowns.  “You said there were two reasons.  What's the second?”

“Ah.”  Her mother reaches into the pocket of her dress and pulls out a note sealed with wax.  She holds it out to Brienne with a bittersweet smile.  “I have a message for you.”

Brienne stares at the paper in her mother's hand for a long moment, wondering if all the other notes had been a well-meaning mummer's farce orchestrated by her mother.

“Take it,” her mother says softly, “and have faith.”

Brienne reaches out with a trembling hand and takes the note.  Her mother stands on tiptoes and brushes a kiss against Brienne's cheek before she turns and walks away.

Brienne takes a deep breath and breaks the seal.

It has the current date and only two words:

_Turn around._

Her breath catches, and she doesn't know if it's her blood or the ocean waves that's roaring in her ears.  She sways a little then stiffens her spine and turns.

His golden hair gleams in the sun.  His beard is gone, replaced by several days' growth of stubble, and her breath catches at seeing just how handsome he truly is when his features are not hidden by long hair and a thick, filthy beard.  He's dressed in gold armor emblazoned with the roaring lion of House Lannister.  He looks every inch the lord he most obviously is and nothing like the filthy condemned criminal he had been in that prison.

He starts walking towards her, his crimson cloak swirling behind him, and a distant part of her wonders why he has dressed so formally for a meeting on a beach.

The thought seems to wake her muscles and she hesitantly starts walking towards him.

They stop when they're a couple feet apart and consider each other in silence.

Finally, Brienne says, "Why are you here?" She's trembling even though the breeze from the ocean is warm.

Jaime cocks his head, his eyes amused, and that, she notices with something like relief, hasn't changed. 

"I thought you might be curious,” he says.

"Curious," she says slowly.  " _Curious._ "

"Or that you would at least like to know I was still alive, septa."

She winces a little at the title. "I'm a septa no longer."

"I know," he says softly.

She nods.  Of course he knows; he's mentioned it enough times in the notes she's received.  Unless—

"Have you been sending me notes?" she blurts.

He raises an eyebrow and gives her a lopsided smirk.  "Have you helped so many prisoners escape you can't determine which one might be writing to you?"

She flushes.  "I have had too many cruel japes played on me, Mr. Lannister, to assume anything."

"Mr. Lannister," he says softly and laughs.

"Why are you here?" she asks again.

"I've here for you, Brienne," he says.  "You're no longer a septa."

Her eyes narrow.  "No.  But you are still a wanted man."

His grin is wickedly teasing and she flushes.

"Wanted by the law," she hastily clarifies.

His grin widens.  "Not any longer," he says.  "I've been granted a full pardon by the Crown."

She scowls.  "What?  Why would the young King pardon you?"

He shrugs.  “The Small Council itself sent me to that prison to investigate.  Besides a steady stream of letters detailing what they hoped were the unbelievable conditions at the prison, the Hanging Judge was executing far too many men who also happened to be supportive of the young King.  The Hanging Judge was also far too reluctant to implement the young King's edicts.”

She pales.  "You mean...those men were all innocent?" she whispers, feeling sick.

"Not all of the men hanged in the last three years were friends to the young King; the Hanging Judge did occasionally mete out the appropriate justice.  But others? Innocent of the crime for which they were hanged, yes, but that doesn't make them _innocent_.  They were truly guilty of something, have no fear.  ”

Brienne frowns.  "And you?  What are you truly guilty of?"

"I really did kill the previous Targaryen king," he says calmly, "but since my actions put the current regime on the Iron Throne, no one seems to mind too much."

She draws in a hissing breath.  “You're the Kingslayer?  Uncle to the young King?”

Jaime bows as deeply as he can while clad in gold armor.  “At your service, my lady.  I am also Lord of Casterly Rock and Royal Governor of the Westerlands.”  His smile is sharp and almost bitter.  “My father died two months before I became a guest in your prison.”

She blinks and his expression softens.

“I don't understand,” she whispers.

“I was never truly exiled,” Jaime says.  “King Aerys II was mad and deserved to die…for many reasons…but it was better for all concerned if I was not a visible member of the new Queen's court.  I went North, beyond the Wall, and I spent some time in Essos and the Summer Isles.  I returned permanently when I received word that my father was dying coupled with a plea from my sweet brother to return to King's Landing and help him root out those who were resisting and possibly plotting rebellion against the young King.”  He smiles.  “I had a small group of my men camped near the prison.  Even if you hadn't taken me to the river, my men were attending every execution, awaiting my turn on the gallows.  They would have rescued me regardless.”

Her eyes widen then narrow.  “So we risked our lives for nothing?” she snaps.

“We risked our lives so fewer people would be hurt if I could manage to escape on my own.”  He frowns.  “I didn’t expect the Hanging Judge to order the punishment he did.  You were already gone by the time we raided the prison.”

Brienne remembers the bite of the lash and winces.  “Yes,” is all she says and shakes her head.  “Why are you here?” she asks again.

"I told you:  I'm here for you.  I sent a telegram before I left the mainland and asked your father for your hand in marriage."

Brienne's jaw drops.  "Why would you do such a mad thing?" she sputters.

Jaime reaches out and tentatively touches her arm.  She flinches but doesn't move away.  His smile is as tentative as his touch as he slides his fingers down her arm and gently takes her hand, intertwining their fingers.

"Many reasons," he says softly.  "Because you have the kindest ways.  Because you have the most beautiful eyes in the world.  Because I ruined your life and I owe you a debt."

She tries to jerk her hand away at that but he simply tightens his grip.

"Because you're meant for grander things than being a septa ministering to condemned men in the most notorious prison in Westeros."

Now she does jerk her hand away and spins round.  But she's only taken two steps when he says, "And because I love you."

She stops in her tracks and stops breathing as he closes the space between them.

His breath whispers against her ear, making shiver, as he gently says, "I thought my notes made that obvious?"

She takes a quick breath as she gives a small shake of her head, but she refuses to turn and look at him.

"It won't be an easy life," he says.  "My father was not a kind man and he damaged many of House Lannister's relationships with the other Houses of Westeros as well as in the Westerlands.  Westeros is restless, with the nobility resisting the young King's reforms and that means King's Landing is a viper's nest of betrayals and lies.  But the young King is a good child and I think he'll grow to be a good King, if we can keep him surrounded with good people."

"A political marriage?" she forces out, her throat tight.

"We'll eventually find an appropriate wife for him, I'm sure, but he's only thirteen, after all.  There's time."

Now she spins round.  "For you, you _idiot_!"

He grins.  "Is that any way for a septa to talk?" he purrs and kisses her.

_*/*/*/*/*_

By the time they stop kissing on the beach, he's told her again he loves her, and she's said the words back to him, and she finds herself agreeing to marry him before her good sense can reassert itself.

Her mother and sisters are ecstatic while her father and brother are suspicious.  They take Jaime away for a private conversation, and the harsh set to their features sends a chill down Brienne's spine.

She needn't have worried:  the only damage she can see the next morning is three men with raging hang-overs.

*/*/*/*/*

Despite her family’s best efforts, Jaime finds ample opportunities to sneak her away to hidden places where he proceeds to kiss her breathless while whispering how much he loves her into her ear. 

They marry in the sept of Evenfall Hall a week after his arrival.  They do it so quickly both because Jaime needs must return to King's Landing as soon as possible, and because, her father says drily with a pointed glare at Jaime, the bedding is obviously in a race with the wedding, and Selwyn’s determined the wedding will win.  Brienne’s face glows with embarrassment while Jaime simply smirks and shrugs in rueful agreement.

They spend their wedding night in a special bridal bedchamber, decorated prettily by her mother and sisters, and far from the rooms of her family for privacy.  There, Jaime treats her gently, explores her carefully, and encourages her own shy explorations of him.

After, he curls round her, tells her she's beautiful and that he loves her, and, just like she had in the prison:  she believes him.

*/*/*/*/*


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   Canon-compliant coarse language, although there’s not much of it.  :)
> 
> **A/N:** Sorry for taking so long with this one.  Off-line life has been all-consuming lately (work only, thankfully), and that, coupled with the fact my bus ride home has been unusually crowded this week, my writing time hasn’t been very productive.  :(

 

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne blinks at the computer screens in front of her then slowly, hesitantly turns to look at Jaime.

He’s watching her with wary amusement.  They stare at each other in silence until Jaime finally raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not even surprised any more,” Brienne mutters and slowly lowers her head to her arms.

*/*/*/*/*

They close down the facility then drive back to Castle Black in tense yet, strangely, still-companionable silence.  Brienne’s impressed Jaime hasn’t said anything teasing or provoking and she eyes him suspiciously as they walk into his suite at the hotel to be greeted by a sleepily ecstatic Pod.

“Want a drink?” Jaime asks as he strolls to the bar.

“Gods, yes,” she groans, collapsing on the couch.  Pod leaps on to her lap and turns round three times before he curls up into a tight ball and goes back to sleep.  She idly pets him as she tries to avoid watching Jaime open a bottle of wine and pour some into two glasses.

She does raise an eyebrow as she takes the glass he offers.  “Wine?”

He shrugs.  “You said the other day you like this label,” he says.

She frowns.  “Highgarden Rose?” she says.

Jaime nods.  “I’ve never tried it, and since I don’t think we need to get roaring drunk this time, I thought it would be a nice change.”  He settles on the couch beside her and gives her a teasing grin.  “Besides, we have a wedding to toast.”

Brienne groans, flushing, and takes a quick sip of the wine.  The taste is as good as she remembers.

Jaime takes a sip and thoughtfully considers it.  He looks at her and says, “It is lovely,” and Brienne feels like she’s caught in his green-eyed gaze like a fly caught in amber.

It’s been so strange the last few weeks, she thinks as they stare at each other.  Jaime’s been a constant presence in her house as they prepared for this last round of experiments.  He’s brought over her favourite meal; he’s had her over to the house he’s still sharing with Tyrion; he coaxed her out to the movies a few nights ago, and he even brought her flowers—blue ones to match her eyes, he’d told her with a teasing smirk—the day before they left for Castle Black.  She’d rolled those very eyes at his teasing and didn’t tell him no one had ever bought her flowers before.  The delicate, pretty things are currently safely pressed in a heavy physics textbook in her bookcase.

And now he brought wine she once mentioned in passing that she’d liked...

“What’s going on?” she whispers and he blinks.

“Here?  Or in the other universes?”

“Here.”

His eyes darken.  “What do you want to go on?”

Brienne blushes.  “This isn’t you, Jaime,” she manages to say and he lowers his gaze to his hands and leans slightly away from her.

“You think my counterparts are influencing me?”

“I think we just experienced one set of our counterparts falling in love—”

“They were in love before,” he says.

She rolls her eyes at the interruption and continues, “Fine.  We just experienced our counterparts _admitting_ they’re in love.  They even got married, for the gods’ sake!  And we know how the effects of the universes can linger when the connection ends.”

Jaime looks back at her and frowns.  “So, what?  You think that anything that might happen here, between us, is just a hold-over from the other universes?”

“The fact we’re even having this conversation is bizarre!”

Pod startles at Brienne’s loud voice, his head lifting, his ears pricking.  She puts a soothing hand on his back and he relaxes.

“Why?” Jaime demands.

“Because until a few months ago, you were madly in love with Taena!”

They glare in sudden tense silence until Brienne realizes what she’s just said.

She blushes.  “N—n—not that—that—that—”

“I didn’t take it the wrong way,” Jaime says, “and you’re right.  It hasn’t been that long since Taena and I separated.”

“You’ve loved her a long time,” Brienne mutters, thankfully looking away, “and she’s beautiful.”

“Yes, I did, and yes, she is,” Jaime says calmly.  He gives her a thin smile.  “Mayhaps you’re right.  The lawyers are just getting started and it could take years for us to come to a settlement.”

“And who knows,” Brienne mutters, “maybe you’ll find your way back together again.”

She risks a glance at Jaime, to find him watching her with an incredulous expression, but “Who knows?” is all he says.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime closes the door after Brienne leaves carrying a sleepy Pod, then leans his heated forehead against the door and growls with frustration.

He gets it.  He really does.

But Brienne’s conviction that any shifts in their relationship must only be because of the other universes makes him want to throw things against a wall.

Or mayhaps he should just throw _her_ against a wall and show her exactly how wrong she is.

He returns to the living room and pours the last of the wine—which is really very good—into his glass, and scowls.  Or mayhaps he just needs to be patient.  This will be the last of the experiments for a long time, and mayhaps the longer they stay away from the other universes, the more likely she is to accept that things are changing between them here, in their own universe.

He understands.  She needs to know this is real and not simply echoes of the other universes.

He sips at his wine as he shuts off lights and wanders to the bedroom.

Patience.

Too bad that’s not really his long suit.

*/*/*/*/*

They’re halfway through their usual morning workout before Jaime sees Brienne’s shoulders relax and he has her throwing barbs back at him with her usual acerbic wit.

At brunch, they focus on that night’s experiments.

“Which universe?” he asks, leaning back in his chair and sipping his coffee.

Brienne frowns as she butters her toast, and Jaime can almost see the wheels turning as she tries to decide on the universe that’s least likely to end up with their counterparts in bed together.

“Farmer Brienne,” she says.  “That one seems innocuous enough...right?”

He hides his expression behind another sip of coffee.  “Works for me,” he says, and gives her a bland smile.

*/*/*/*/*

_They sit in the control room with their heads once more encased in the latex skull caps studded with electrodes._

_“Thank gods nobody else is seeing this,” Brienne mutters._

_“You look perfectly charming,” Jaime says absently, keeping his eyes on the screen as he keys in the settings for the first run of their experiment._

_“Shut up,” she mutters._

_He turns and gives her a teasing grin.  “Ready, Junior?”_

_She glares and he allows himself a moment to admire her remarkable eyes._

_“Yes,” she growls._

_He winks, and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne asks her neighbours, the Paynes, to look after the farm while she and her sisters are away, and, against her better judgement, two weeks later, they’re met at King’s Landing International Airport by a non-descript man in a chauffeur’s uniform.  They’re driven to an affluent neighbourhood and the car stops in front of a relatively modest three-storey mansion.  Brienne shepherds her sisters through the front door and they stop in the gleaming foyer, gaping round them as the chauffeur carries in their luggage.

Not even Tywin Lannister’s house is as large, she thinks, and it’s certainly not as bright and shiny new.

She jumps a little as a door at the end of the hall opens and Jaime walks out, followed by a tall, distinguished man, about the same age as her father.  The stranger is handsome, sandy hair graying at the temples, still-trim with broad-shoulders and with an air of calm dignity about him.

“The album’s released in two weeks,” the man is saying, “and the first leg of the concert tour starts the same day.  Fifteen cities in twenty-one days.”

Jaime is nodding but his eyes are on her and her sisters, his face lighting up with a grin.

“I’ll be ready, Arthur,” Jaime says, “but that’s two weeks away.  Today, I have guests.”  He sweeps both Alysanne and Arianne in turn off their feet in a hug, then turns to Brienne, eyes sparkling as he pulls her, too, into a bear hug.  “Mayhaps Brienne will be my good luck charm, and the album will debut at number one.”

Arthur hums a little, his eyes thoughtful as he looks at Brienne and her sisters.  “Mayhaps,” he says.

“Oh, don’t worry so much, Arthur.  This isn’t my first record, you know.”

Arthur shakes his head with a fondly amused smile on his face.  “No, it’s your second, and I only wish I were once again as young and confident as you.”  He turns back to Brienne and her sisters.  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your guests?”

“Arthur, this is Brienne Tarth, and her sisters, Alysanne and Arianne.  Ladies:  Arthur Dayne, my producer and owner of my record label, Dayne Records.”

Arthur’s smile is genuinely pleased as he shakes their hands.  “Ah!  I thought you had a familiar look to you.  Your father and I are old friends, although I haven’t seen him for several years now.”

Brienne opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Arthur looks at his watch and shakes his head.

“I have to go.”  He looks at Jaime.  “I’m glad you’re ready for the release of _Hear Me Roar_ , but I still have some publicity to arrange.  I’ll be calling you.” He strides to the door and opens it, then turns back and gives them all a charming smile.  “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you ladies.  Please give my best to your father.”

There’s an awkward silence after the door closes behind Arthur.

“I’m sorry,” Jaime says.

“Don’t be,” Brienne says briskly with a quick glance at her sisters.  “He obviously didn’t know.”  She makes an obvious show of looking round her.  “Your house is beautiful.”

Jaime grins.  “Thanks.  Come on, I’ll show you round.”

A young woman bustles out of another room with a welcoming smile, and Brienne’s stomach freezes with dismay.

“This is Pia Peckledon,” Jaime says.  “Pia and her husband, Jos, take care of me and this place when I’m not around.”  He turns to Pia with a smile.  “Please ask Jos take the luggage to the guest rooms we set aside for the ladies.  I’m going to show them round the house.”

“Yes, ser,” Pia says.

Brienne is so light-headed with relief, she barely notices when Jaime slings his arm round her waist and turns her towards the back of the house.

“Come on, ladies,” he says, his other arm round her sisters, “we’ll start with the practice room.  It’s where we rehearse and write our music.”

*/*/*/*/*

The house is large and beautiful, and the girls are given bedrooms on the third floor, while Brienne is on the second floor, in a beautifully appointed room with its own private bathroom and a door that leads to Jaime’s bedroom.

“Don’t worry, Stretch, it’s securely locked,” Jaime says with a wink, and holds out the key.

She rolls her eyes.  “Oh, please.”

He raises an eyebrow, a teasing gleam in his eyes.  “So I can keep the key?  Maybe even use it?”

“You’re such an idiot, Jaime,” she mutters and grabs the key from his hand.

Jaime laughs as he strolls to the door.  “Come downstairs to the front room when you’re ready.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne walks into a tastefully furnished room with couches and armchairs and a gleaming chrome bar.

“What would you like to drink?” Jaime asks, getting up from one of the couches and strolling towards the bar.

She hesitates, feeling awkward, which is just... _strange_.  This is Jaime, and she’s never truly felt awkward with him before.

“What do you have?” she asks.

Jaime’s smile is wicked.  “A little of everything, really.  How about some Myrish Delight?”

Her eyes narrow.  “That’s not a drink!”

He laughs.  “It’s a wine.  From Myr, as the name might suggest.”

She flushes.  “Oh,” she mutters.

“To tell the truth, I have no idea if it’s any good, but it’s something different than beer.”

“Oh?  Are you too good for beer in King’s Landing?”

He looks down, his lashes ridiculously long and thick against his cheeks.  “Something new for a new place,” he says lightly, but his voice is tight, and Brienne is immediately consumed with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she says, helpless.  “I didn’t mean anything.”

He looks up at her.  “I know.”

He walks over and hands her a glass of wine.

“Why does this feel so strange?” she asks as she takes the glass.

Jaime’s smile is bittersweet.  “Because when I left, I was just some kid in a beat-up car, and when I came home, I still seemed like that same kid, just in a better car.”

Brienne frowns, glancing round the comfortable room.  “But here you’re still Jaime, just in a nice house,” she says.

Jaime’s smile is slow and sweet.  “Thanks, Stretch.”  He leads her to the couches and they sit down.  He raises his glass in a toast.  “Welcome to my home,” he says.

She raises her own glass with an awkward nod and they sip their wine.

Jaime’s reaction is immediate.  He pulls a face and says, “There’s absolutely _nothing_ delightful about that!”

Brienne, still struggling with the extreme sweetness, nods.

Their gazes meet and suddenly they’re laughing like they’re kids again, sneaking into his father’s wine cellar, and just like that, the awkwardness is gone.

*/*/*/*/*

“Where are the girls?” Jaime asks after he replaces the horribly misnamed Myrish Delight with beer.

“Probably still exploring that games room you have,” she says drily.  “They haven’t seen a computer in over a year.”

Jaime shakes his head.  “And that brings us back to why you’re here.”

“I’m here for a holiday,” Brienne says firmly.  “We’ll never find out what my father did with that money.”

“Three hundred thousand dragons doesn’t just disappear without a trace!”

Brienne leans back and sighs.  “Fine.  Where do we even begin?”

“Well, when in doubt, go to the best,” Jaime says and grins.  “I’ve hired the firm of Baelish and Varys.  They’re the best private investigators in Westeros.  If they can’t find out where your father went and what he did with that money, well, no one can.”

Her eyes widen.  “You hired—?”

Jaime raises a hand to stop her protests.  “Look, you can consider it a loan, or you can just consider it a favour, okay?  But in case you haven’t noticed, I have a best-selling album.  I have a few extra dragons in my own pocket now, so let me do this for you.”

She glares but subsides.  He’s right, she thinks.  They need answers, even if the answers only confirm what she already knows.  And this is Jaime.  He’ll just do it anyway.

“All right,” she mutters, and takes a gulp of her beer.

*/*/*/*/*

The week passes far too quickly.

Jaime takes them to all the sights of the historic city, including a tour of the Red Keep since the Royal Family isn’t in residence.  They spend a day at a beach on the Blackwater Bay, where he teases Brienne about not wearing a bikini until she chases him into the water where they wrestle until she finally manages to dunk him.  He takes them to his record label to tour the recording studio and to preview the cover of his new album.

Brienne looks at the cover.  It’s his face, a close-up, and the photographer has made him look even more impossibly handsome than he is in the flesh, his bright green eyes staring out in an intense stare, drawing the viewer in.  The words ‘Hear Me Roar’ are emblazoned across the top in gold and red letters.

“Arthur thinks this one may sell even better than my first album,” he says, and Brienne can see his nervous anticipation.  “It’s released in ten days, so I guess we’ll see.”

“It’ll do great,” she says.

“Yeah?”

Her smile is sad.  “I told you before:  you were always destined for greater things.”

“Brienne...”

She takes a hasty step away.  “The cover’s eye-catching, too,” she says and turns away.

*/*/*/*/*

He takes them to a rehearsal of his new stage show for his upcoming tour, and Brienne and her sisters have the privilege of watching a live concert put on just for them.

“He’s really good,” Arianne says as they’re waiting for Jaime to finish with his bandmates.

“For an old guy,” Alysanne adds, and Brienne covers her mouth with her hand and turns away to hide her laughter.

*/*/*/*/*

All too soon it’s their last night, and Jaime and Brienne are once again alone in the front room.  The girls are upstairs, supposedly asleep, but Brienne tells him she suspects they’re getting in the last few hours they can on the computer and the various game systems in the games room.

“I should go up and chase them to bed, but I don’t have the heart,” she says.

Jaime hands her a beer and sits on the couch opposite her.

“You go home tomorrow,” he says after a moment of comfortable silence.

“I know,” she says drily.  “I have the plane tickets in my purse.”

He rolls his eyes.  “Where do you get your smart mouth from?”

“Let me tell you about my childhood best friend...”

Jaime grins and the sudden flush in her cheeks makes heat swirl in his stomach and his cock twitch, followed by a sudden stab of desperation.  This visit had been great, but he hadn’t really managed to accomplish as much as he’d hoped.

“We didn’t get much time alone,” he says.

She raises an eyebrow but her gaze skitters away from his.

“We’re alone now,” she mutters, then look sharply at him.  “Have you heard from the private investigators?”

He frowns.  “What?  No.”

“Oh,” she says.  “I thought that’s why you wanted us to have some time alone.”

Jaime shakes his head with a sigh.  “I wanted us to have some time alone so we could get to know each other again.”

Brienne blinks.  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Jaime leans forward.  “You’ve had a very tough five years, Brienne.  I want to know about them.  I want to make up for the fact I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

“Jaime…”

“And I want us to be part of each other’s lives again.”

“I know.  That’s why I’m here.”

“No!  I mean...”  He scrubs one hand down his face.  He doesn’t know how to do this, how to let her know he wants to move beyond best friends.  He’s pretty sure she’d like that, too, but how to cross that line without losing everything they have?  He looks at her beautiful but wary eyes, at those guileless blue depths, and mutters, “Gods, I’m shit at this.”

Well, he tells himself, the gods hate cowards.  He puts his beer down with a thud on the coffee table and gets to his feet.  “Stand up.”

“What?  Why?”

“Just...trust me, okay?  Stand up.”

She puts her beer down and stands up.

“Come here.”

She warily steps closer.  “You better not be planning on tickling me,” she warns him.  “I stopped falling for that trick when we were ten.”

Jaime snorts.  “We were at least fifteen before you figured it out,” he says.  He moves closer and she frowns.

“What are you doing?”

Jaime sighs.  “Just don’t bruise the face,” he says, then he cups her cheeks and presses his mouth against hers.

*/*/*/*/*

She’s dead.

That’s the only reason Jaime’s lips would be pressed against hers like this—warm and soft and gently coaxing—

He ends the kiss, and she opens her eyes to stare at him.  She knows she must look ridiculous with her dumbfounded expression and her mouth sagging open.

He gives her a half-smile, his green eyes dark.  “Can I do that again?”

Dead, she thinks, even as she gives him a slight nod.

This time, there’s nothing gentle about it.  Instead it’s hot and deep and demanding, and she desperately clings to him and kisses him back with all the longing she’s felt for him while he was gone.

_Definitely_ dead.

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne blinks as the experiment ends and she’s immediately back in the Wall’s control room with Jaime._

_She automatically touches her lips, still feeling Singer Jaime’s kisses._

_She turns to Jaime, and he’s staring at her with wide eyes, the green almost swallowed by his pupils.  He’s gripping the edge of the desk, his breathing rapid._

_They stare at each other in electric silence and for one wild moment Brienne yearns to reach out to him, to pick up from where they left their counterparts.  Vicarious satisfaction is only going to last for so long, she thinks with dismayed desperation, and she can only take so much temptation before—_

_Jaime blinks and looks away._

_“I may need to rethink that diaper idea,” he says, his voice tight._

_Brienne gapes then Jaime glances back at her with a ruefully pained smirk, and suddenly they’re both laughing, and they laugh until tears run down their cheeks._

*/*/*/*/*

_The generators are almost at full power again before they finally get the last of their giggles under control._

_“Gods,” Jaime says with a sigh, scrubbing his hands over his face, “I’m scared to know what we’re going to find when we go back.”_

_Brienne snickers a little, then sobers.  “This is why...last night...”_

_Jaime raises a hand.  “No need to explain, Brienne,” he says, “I understand.  Really.”  He looks down at the pen in his hand and shrugs.  “Mayhaps you’re right.  Anything that I might have been thinking or feeling is most likely just an echo from the other universes.”  He glances up at her to gauge her reaction and is gratified to see a fleeting moment of what he hopes is disappointment on her face._

_He straightens with a smirk as the generators reach full power._

_“Well,” he says, “let’s hope I can make it to a cold shower at the end of this next experiment.”_

_Brienne blushes then she lifts her chin and gives him a smirk of her own.  “You and me both,” she says, and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

She may be dead, but if she is, she’s in one of the seven heavens.

Jaime’s sprawled beneath her on the couch, and his arms are wrapped round her, holding her tight.  She’d stopped the kissing; it was too overwhelming and too confusing, but this...

Well, this is overwhelming and confusing, too, but she hadn’t realized how good it feels to simply be held...even though there are so many things to think on before—

“Stop overthinking things,” Jaime murmurs, his voice rumbling in his chest beneath her as he rubs a hand over her back.

She lifts her head and glares down at his smugly pleased, far-too-handsome face.  “Do you blame me?  This—what is this?”

“This is just two people taking the next step in their relationship.”

“This is so sudden, Jaime!’

Jaime laughs at that before pressing a lingering kiss against her mouth.  “We’ve only been heading here our entire lives, Stretch, but you’re right:  this is so sudden.”

She growls and tickles his ribs and before she knows it, they’re in a tickling-slash-wrestling match that ends with them landing in a laughing heap on the floor, with Jaime now on top of her.

He looks down at her with a grin, green eyes sparking with happiness.  “Don’t worry, Stretch, we’ll figure this out, just like we’ve figured out everything else.”

“Jaime—”

He stops her words with a kiss.  “Don’t worry, I said,” he whispers.  “Now, we should go to bed—our separate beds!—before I forget we need to take it slow.”  He rears up and frowns down at her with a sudden thought.  “Are you still a virgin?” he asks.

Brienne’s face burns with embarrassment.  “Why?”

Jaime’s slow smile is wicked as he slowly rolls his hips against her, and she feels his—

_Gods_ , she’s literally going to burst into flames at any moment.

“Well,” he drawls with another slow, sensuous roll of his hips, “it tells me how to approach our first time.”

She smacks his shoulder then soothes the small hurt.  “That’s assuming an awful lot, don’t you think?”

He laughs down at her.  “You haven’t actually punched me in the face or broken any of my limbs.”  He gives her a quick kiss.  “That alone is giving me a small measure of hope there’s going to be a first time.”

*/*/*/*/*

Her dreams that night are a mishmash of nightmares and erotic images, and she wakes at three in the morning, hot and aching for him.

_He’s just on the other side of the door_ , her yearning body whispers to her, _and you have the key_.

She sits up then pauses.  There’s simply too much:  a failing farm, two children to raise, a burgeoning singing career and the resulting fame that would eat her and her sisters up and spit them out.

She lays back down.

There’s too much.  Whatever this is...it’ll never last.  It’s better not to even start.

She’ll tell him so in the morning.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne’s decision dissolves like dew in sunlight when faced with Jaime’s beaming smile and obvious pleasure at the sight of her.  When they’re leaving, he hugs her sisters good-bye with real regret, then he kisses her—with obvious enthusiasm—while they’re standing on his front steps, in full view of her sisters, Pia and Jos, the man driving the limo, and anyone else who happens to be watching.

When he finally releases her, it takes all her willpower to turn away and get into the car.

The three of them wave frantically as they’re driven away from his house, then Brienne braces herself for her sisters’ questions.

To her surprise, they don’t seem surprised at all, only sad they’re leaving Jaime and Pia and Jos and the computers and games room and all the amenities of King’s Landing behind.

“Aren’t you wondering why Jaime kissed me?” she tentatively asks as they get to the airport.

Alysanne and Arianne exchange a puzzled glance then shake their heads.

“Aren’t you surprised, then?” Brienne pushes.

They shake their heads again.  “I always knew Jaime had the hots for you,” Alysanne says with a worldly air.

“ _Alysanne!_   You’re only fourteen!”

She shrugs then gives Brienne a sweet smile.  “Back home, he was looking at you like you hung the moon, so I’m not sure why you’re surprised.”

Brienne blushes and subsides into awkward silence while her sisters chatter excitedly about everything they’ve seen and done in King’s Landing.

*/*/*/*/*

The realities of the farm are hard to take the next few days, although the heat has finally broken and they even had some rain during the week Brienne and her sisters were gone.

Pod did a good job of looking after the cattle, and Brienne gives him the t-shirt they brought back from King’s Landing, and he accepts it with a blush and a stammered thanks while glancing at Alysanne with something approaching fascination.  He’s around the same age as her sister, and Brienne raises a mental eyebrow as she watches them.  They’re still far too young, she thinks, but maybe in a year or two...

She heaves a sigh and turns her thoughts to what she needs to do to make the next mortgage payment.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne and her sisters go to the library that weekend, and log into their e-mail accounts before the girls scamper off to the stacks and the games room.  As for Brienne, her heart leaps when she finds several e-mails from Jaime waiting for her.

She can’t keep the smile from her lips or the blush from her cheeks as she reads them.

She writes back, her words not nearly as heated as his, and she turns down his offer to get them all cell phones so he can call them.  She wishes him luck with his new tour and the release of _Hear Me Roar_ , both starting the next day, and asks if he’s heard from the firm of Baelish and Varys.

She walks on air with stars in her eyes all the way back to the farm with Jaime’s e-mails printed out and stowed safely in her purse.

*/*/*/*/*

Their lives fall back into the routine of hard work every day, and on the last day of each weekend, Brienne and her sisters walk into town to the library.  There are always multiple e-mails from Jaime waiting for her with at least one that begs her to allow him to get cell phones for her and her sisters.

She always turns him down, and she hopes she’s getting better at telling him how much she misses him.  She prints off his e-mails and shares what she can with her sisters, and keeps the rest close to her heart.

He’s on the first leg of his concert tour and Brienne searches each weekend for news and reviews.  She learns Jaime’s star is rising ever faster and shining ever brighter.  She’s so proud and happy for him while also knowing that the more famous he becomes, the less likely she will have any role in his future.

At her lowest moments, safe in her bedroom, she cries a little at the thought, but one night as she wipes tears from her eyes, she decides she’s going to take a chance the next time they see each other.  She remembers his kisses and the feel of his arms round her and the strength of his muscled chest beneath her palms.  She’s going to take a chance, because she’ll regret it forever if she doesn’t…and because whatever this is with Jaime is doomed to wither and die in the hot light of celebrity.  She can at least walk away with better memories than what she’s managed to gather so far.

Just over two weeks after her return from King’s Landing, Brienne goes to her doctor and has a long, embarrassing conversation about the best forms of birth control for her, and wonders if she’s ever going to have a chance to use it.

*/*/*/*/*

The e-mails that weekend are more of the same:  stories of Jaime’s time on the road, how much he wants to hear her voice, how much he can’t wait to see and kiss her again.

His last e-mail, though, is simply titled “Call me” and his cell number is in the body of the e-mail, along with the times of each day for the next week that he’ll be free.

She leaves her sisters home alone the next day to walk into town to find a phone.

“Brienne,” he breathes and the happiness that warms his voice sends shivers down her spine.

She bites her lip, looking round the far-from-private public phone in the library, and hopes nobody will ask why she’s so red. 

“Jaime,” she says, and it’s almost a groan of longing.

“Gods, I’ve missed you,” he purrs in her ear.

“I—I’ve missed you, too.”

“Good.  I think you should let me get you a cell phone.”  His voice is low and husky, suggestively sliding across her nerve endings.  “We could talk every night.  In private.”

“Jaime—”

“What are you wearing?”

Brienne sputters into laughter.  “Stop it,” she says.  “I’m in the library and your e-mail made it seem urgent that I get in touch with you.  If you tell me it was just so you could tease me in real time—”

His laugh is almost sinful.  “Well, that was definitely part of it, not gonna lie.  But sadly, no.  I got a call from Petyr Baelish.  They’re ready to give us their report.”

It’s like being doused with ice water.  “Report.”

“Right,” Jaime says.  “Can you find somebody to take care of the girls for a few days?  I’m back in King’s Landing at the end of the week, but then I’m gone again three days after that for the next leg of the tour.”

Brienne frowns, thinking of her neighbours.  “I can get Pod to help with the cattle,” she mutters, “and Selyse Baratheon owes me a favour.”

“Gods, don’t inflict Selyse on them!”

Brienne laughs.  “Selyse is fine,” she says, “and the girls are friends with Shireen, so it’s not like they don’t know Selyse.”

“Well, they’re your sisters,” Jaime says, “although you may need to bring back really special souvenirs to make it up to them.  Anyway, I’ll have somebody make the arrangements to get you to King’s Landing.”

“All right,” she says, her stomach tight with fear about what the private investigators might have discovered.

“And Brienne...”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t wait to see you.”

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime looks at Brienne and raises an eyebrow._

_“You think you’re going to need that diaper?” she asks, raising an eyebrow of her own._

_She looks ridiculous in that latex skull cap with the electrodes and wires snaking out of it, and all he wants to do is lean in and kiss her senseless.  He idly wonders what that would do to their brain scan results._

_He settles for a wry grin.  “Hopefully not, but you_ _do_ _know where they’re going to end up, right?”_

_She groans and covers her face with her hands._

*/*/*/*/*

_Thirty minutes later, the computer pings to let them know the generators are back_ _at_ _full power._

_Jaime looks at Brienne and says, “You don’t have to stay, you know.  If you’re too embarrassed, I can wait until you’re outside the EM barrier, and I can run the experiment on my own.”_

_She blinks those remarkable eyes and says, “And skew the data?  Never.”_

_Jaime gives her a slow grin.  “Okay, Junior, but don’t say I didn’t give you the choice.”_

_She rolls her eyes as he hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne gets more and more nervous the closer and closer she gets to King’s Landing.  By the time the limo pulls up in front of Jaime’s house, her palms are sweating and she doesn’t know if her knees are going to hold her up long enough to get inside.

But she’s faced so much in the last five years, and this is _Jaime_.

She gets out of the car with her overnight bag, and, with a deep breath, walks to the house.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime opens the door and the look on his face as he gently pulls her inside and into his arms makes all her fears disappear like snow in the spring.

*/*/*/*/*

By the time they’re in his bed and he’s moving inside her, her last coherent thought is that she doesn’t know why she was so scared.

She’s finally home.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne’s rests her head on Jaime’s chest and practically purrs as his hand lazily strokes up and down her naked back.  She doesn’t know if she’s ever felt this physically relaxed before in her life.

“We have an appointment with Petyr Baelish tomorrow morning,” Jaime murmurs then yawns.

“Hmm.”

His chuckle rumbles against her ear.  “Are you sleeping?”

“Hmmm...no.”

“Good.”  He stares up at the ceiling, his arm tightening round her.  “Can we talk about us?”

Brienne freezes, then lifts her head to stare at him.

“What’s there to talk about?” she asks.

His smile is tight and seems almost nervous.  “Don’t be coy, Brienne,” he says.

She sighs.  “I don’t know if there is an ‘us’,” she says.  She lowers her head back to his chest and listens to the too-rapid beat of his heart against her ear.  “I can’t ask you to take on a failing farm and raising two young girls.  That will ruin your image in the music business.”  She suddenly huffs a pained chuckle.  “ _I_ will ruin your image in the music business.  I’m not the kind of woman a man like you should have on your arm during a life in the limelight.”

“There are no men like me, Brienne, there’s only me—and I’ll have whatever fucking woman I want on my arm and anyone who doesn’t like it can go fuck themselves.”

She sits up, staring at the anger in his voice.

Jaime glares at her and says, “I find you absolutely, stunningly beautiful—I always have—which is why I was so pissed when I found out you were in love with Renly fucking Baratheon of all fucking people!  I also know that that stupid fuck Connington and his cronies shattered your confidence in yourself while I was gone, and the next time I see them, I’m kicking all their asses into the next century, I swear to the gods!”

She gapes as he smiles, a glittering, knife-like smile.

“Then again,” he says, his voice a dangerous purr, “you haven’t told me the only thing that would send me from this bed.”

She frowns.  “What’s that?”

“You haven’t said you don’t love me.”

A slow blush creeps up her cheeks.  “You haven’t told me you do!” she stammers and feels suddenly ridiculous having this conversation while their naked bodies are pressed together.

“Of course I do, Brienne.”  He runs his hands over her back and sides and pulls her to him for a kiss.  “Of course I do,” he says, more softly, and kisses her again.  “Gods, I do love you,” he groans, “and I don’t know how I’ve managed to stay away from you for so long.”

She arches against him, holding him close, and when he moves his mouth from hers to plant suckling kisses on her neck, she can only moan, “I love you,” with each pull of his mouth.

And then there’s no talking at all.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime opens the door for Brienne as they walk into the offices of Baelish and Varys.  Petyr Baelish shakes their hands and Jaime assesses him and finds the slender, ferret-faced man to be pleasant enough although Jaime’s not certain he trusts him completely.

Still.

Half of the best pair of private investigators in Westeros, and hopefully that reputation isn’t misplaced.

“Congratulations on your new album, Mr. Lannister,” Petyr says, and there’s a certain amount of obsequiousness in his smile that rubs Jaime the wrong way.

“Thank you,” is all he says.  He knows _Hear Me Roar_ debuted at number one on the charts, the reviews have been good, the _Hear Me Roar_ tour has been selling out in every venue, and Arthur’s been cautiously pleased every time they talk.  But he hasn’t learned the details yet.  He’s been too focused on the tour and thoughts of Brienne to ask how many copies have been sold to date.

“Everyone says this is your break-out album,” Petyr continues.  “You may even beat Aerys Targaryen’s record for most albums sold in the shortest amount of time.”

Jaime’s smile is slight.  “I doubt that,” he says, then glances at Brienne before he turns back to Petyr.  “You have news for us?”

“Yes,” Petyr says, immediately all business as he pulls a document in front of him.  “We managed to track Selwyn Tarth’s movements four and a half years ago, during the time he was away from your home town.”

“Where did he go?” Brienne says, almost quivering as she leans forward, her magnificent eyes intent on Petyr Baelish’s face.

“He came here.  To King’s Landing.”

“And did you trace the money?”

“Oh, yes, Ms Tarth.”  He gives her a thin smile.  “It was transferred to Dayne Records.”

*/*/*/*/*

Arthur Dayne greets them at his office door, shaking their hands and showing them to chairs in front of his desk.

“You sounded very mysterious on the phone, Jaime,” he says with a puzzled smile.

“You knew my father,” Brienne says, and Jaime can see how tightly bunched her muscles are in her shoulders.

“Yes, I—”  Arthur blinks, taken aback.  “ _Knew_?”

“My father died in a farming accident four and a half years ago,” Brienne says.

“Gods, I’m sorry.  I hadn’t heard.”

“The man invested three hundred thousand dragons into your record label, and then you never heard from him again.  Didn’t you find that odd?” Brienne says, her voice tight.

Arthur shrugs.  “Not really.  I was sending him quarterly statements and I just assumed he had no questions.  The agreement isn’t up for another six months, after all, so I didn’t really expect him to contact me until then.”  Arthur’s smile is polished and professional.  “That’s why he’s a silent partner.”  His smile fades.  “Was.”

“Where have you been sending the quarterly statements?” Brienne asks suspiciously.

Arthur pulls out his tablet and taps at it then scribbles a note on a piece of paper and hands it to her.  “Here.”

Brienne takes it with a scowl then Jaime says, “Why you?”

Arthur raises an eyebrow.  “I’m sorry?”

“Why did he choose you to invest with?”

“He didn’t choose _me_ , Jaime,” Arthur says with a chuckle.  “He chose you.  He helped finance your music career.”

*/*/*/*/*

The story, once told, is simple enough.

Not quite five years earlier, Selwyn Tarth arrived on his old friend’s doorstep.  Arthur hadn’t seen him in years, but he looked the same, even if there was a sadness that sat heavy on Selwyn’s shoulders. 

He had a proposition for Arthur:  this kid he knew, Jaime Lannister, was somewhere in King’s Landing, trying to make it in the music business.  Selwyn asked Arthur to go find this kid and give him a listen.

So he did.

“You were busking on the corner of Drogon and Balerion, remember?” Dayne says with a half-smile.

Jaime nods.  “And living out of my car,” he says to Brienne.

Arthur says, “Even then, I could see he had something special.”  He leans back in his chair and smiles.  “I gave Jaime my card; told him to come see me in the morning.  Then I went back to Selwyn and told him we had a deal.”

Brienne blinks as she looks from Arthur to Jaime and back again.  “What kind of a deal?  Exactly?”

“Three hundred thousand dragons for fifteen percent of the profits from Jaime’s first recording contract.  That includes profits from record sales, concerts, public appearances, etc., etc., etc.  Basically, any profits from anything he does that’s covered by our contract with him, Selwyn—or you, now, I suppose—get fifteen percent.”

“Wait a minute,” Jaime says, eyes narrowed.  “I only get ten percent!”

“We made an initial total investment of two million dragons over the last four and a half years into your work, Jaime.  Fifteen percent is Selwyn’s portion of that initial two million dragon investment.”  He shrugs and grins.  “Welcome to the music business.”

Brienne frowns.  “So, how much are we talking about?”

“Well,” Dayne says, “it’s a little early to say for certain.  We released two albums under the current contract, and Jaime’s on his second major tour.  We’ve also just received the first sales reports on _Hear Me Roar_ today, and...” He heaves a sigh and gives Jaime a sad look.

Jaime’s eyes widen.  “Oh, gods,” he groans, “it bombed.”

Arthur’s sad look deepens.  “Bombed...you could say that...it’s definitely blown the competition out of the water.  It’s already sold almost two million copies, and it’s only been four weeks.”

Their mouths slowly sag open.

“Millions, Brienne,” Arthur says, eyes sparkling.  “Your portion of the contract is worth millions.”

*/*/*/*/*

The stretch of beach on the Blackwater is deserted, and they sit on the sand, resting their chins on their knees.

“Why would he have done that?” Brienne whispers.

Jaime just shakes his head.  “Maybe he felt guilty about keeping you with him.  Maybe...maybe he hoped that if I made it, then...”  He sighs.

“Then I would have made it, too, even though not in the way you’d hoped.”

Jaime turns and gives her a bittersweet smile.  “He loved you, you know.  All of you.”

Brienne closes her eyes, unable to look at him.  “I know,” she whispers.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime reluctantly kisses her good-bye the next day.

“I wish you could come with me,” he murmurs against her ear.

“I have to get home,” she whispers back.  “The girls need me.”

“I know.”  He kisses her again then says with a smile, “Will you let me give you cell phones now?  You can pay me back in six months.”

“Jaime…”

“Come on,” he teases, “don’t forget:  you’re going to be richer than I am when all is said and done.”

She snorts.  “You’ll make more albums, Jaime, and I won’t have a stake in any of those.”

“No?” He lifts an eyebrow.  “Well, I think you’ll end up with a fifty percent stake in everything I do.  If you want it.”

She blushes and he laughs and kisses her.

“Just don’t get too comfortable without me,” he murmurs against her ear.

“I won’t,” she sighs.  “I love you, Jaime.”

“I love you, too,” he says, “and once the tour is over, we’ll figure everything out.  The girls may want to stay on the farm until they’ve finished school, and I’m okay with that.  It may be a good place for us to use to escape the spotlight.”

Brienne gives him an incredulous smile.  “Truly?”

“Truly.”  He tugs her closer.  “So long as we’re together.  Right?”

She slowly smiles.  “Right.”

*/*/*/*/*


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N1:**   Okay, here’s the thing.  The wrap-ups of the next three universes are going to be long.  I mean...LONG.  For example, this next universe is already clocking in at 7,000 words and I’m only about 1/3 to ½ done.  The other two are already at ~6,000 words each and aren’t even a ¼ done... _(save me)_.  So, in an effort to make things more readable, I’m going to be splitting the next three universes into at least two chapters each, and possibly more.  I’m not trying to drag things out, I swear!  _(seriously, save me.)_

 

*/*/*/*/*

There’s a long moment of silence after the experiment ends.  Jaime and Brienne glance at each other from the corners of their eyes then studiously ignore each other as they make their notes and check the readouts of their brain scans.

“Well,” Jaime finally says, his gaze firmly on the screen of his laptop, “I may need to rethink my opinion on soul mates.”

From the corner of his eyes, he sees Brienne slowly lean away from him. 

“These experiments are definitely starting to make you lose your mind,” she mutters.

He chuckles and turns to look at her.  “A good scientist adjusts his theories based upon new evidence.  That’s two universes now where our counterparts have fallen in love and admitted it to each other.  We have two more where they’re having sex even if ‘love’ isn’t exactly part of the equation.”

“Well, Megastar Jaime will never fall in love with PI Brienne.  She’s too...boring.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “She’s a private investigator.  How boring can she be?”

“That’s not what I meant!  I mean she’s boring in—in— _other_ ways.”

“Sexually, you mean?”  Jaime laughs as Brienne blushes a dark, bright red.  He glances at the clock.  “We have time to run three more experiments tonight, if you want to test your theory.”

She glares.

“Besides,” he says and grimaces, “if we do the Megastar universe now, we’ll have an extra night for the Mad Jon and the Prince/Princess universes.  In case we need some time in between.”

Brienne scowls as she considers the idea.  Neither of them are looking forward to the last two universes.  Finally, she nods.

“All right,” she says.  “At least we shouldn’t get hurt in the Megastar/PI universe.”

Jaime scowls, rubbing at his jaw.  “Speak for yourself.  That guy had a hells of a punch.”

*/*/*/*/*

_They take off their skull caps long enough to go to the bathroom and then_ _return with coffee and, in Jaime’s case,_ _popcorn._

_“Popcorn and Megastar Jaime.  It just seems to fit,” he says_ _with a shrug as he makes himself comfortable on his chair._

_Brienne_ _rolls her eyes_ _and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

“That’s quite the shiner,” Tyrion says with an expert air.

“The bruise is on my jaw,” Jaime says.  “I’m pretty sure shiners are when you’ve been punched in the eye.”

Tyrion airily waves Jaime’s words away as he leads the way into the drawing room.  “Whatever,” Tyrion says and throws himself on a couch with a loud groan.

“Oh, gods,” Jaime sighs.  “It’s never good news when you’re being overly dramatic.”

“The tabloids and social media are all over your date last night.”

“Date.  Date?”

“The not-quite-lovely-but-definitely-unforgettable Brienne Tarth.  At Olenna Tyrell’s annual charity benefit?  I hope you didn’t donate anything more than your charm and wit.”

Jaime gingerly touches the tender bruise on his jaw.  “Only my pride,” he says ruefully.

“Gods, don’t tell me you made a move on Brienne!”

“No,” Jaime says, but it had been a close thing.  He couldn’t really say why, though.  She’s definitely not beautiful, and he suspects she’s about as adventurous in bed as his old septa—although he’s heard one never knew with septas.  But last night, sitting at the kitchen table, he’d looked at her and...

Mayhaps it’s the eyes, he thinks.  Beautifully blue, calm and guileless, and she’d looked at him like she was seeing him.  Him, and not _The Jaime Lannister_.  Which is stupid, of course.  The woman barely knows him.

Only...

There are so few people who look at him like that, without any apparent agenda.  Tyrion.  Addam.  Bronn...when he’s around.

Which reminds him.

“Have you heard from Bronn?”

Tyrion shakes his head and Jaime frowns.

“This is the longest he’s gone without getting in touch somehow,” Jaime mutters.

“Well, you have your very own private eye living in your house.  You could send her sniffing round.”

“Bronn would not appreciate that...I’ll do it.”

Tyrion snickers.

“So, is social media really taking the piss out of me for dating Brienne?” Jaime asks as he strolls back to the couches with drinks in his hands.

Tyrion snorts.  “Taking the piss out of Brienne, you mean,” he says drily as he takes the glass Jaime is holding out. He eyes the milky concoction with a jaundiced eye.  “Just for the record:  I still—and will forever—resent the fact working for you means I can no longer get drunk before noon.”

“You’re the one who worries too much,” Jaime says with a shrug and sits on the opposite couch.  “But you haven’t come here simply to tell me social media is being as cruel as always.”

“Well, any publicity is good publicity.”  Tyrion sips his drink and grimaces, then says, “Is it true you told Addam you’d take the part in that movie?”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “Is Addam in the habit of lying to you?”

“Trust no one, Jaime.  You should know that by now.”

“Ah.  So you’re the one who stole my money?”

“Absolutely—one percentage point at a time.”

Jaime snickers into his drink and says, “Yeah, I’m going to do the movie.  Addam’s on his way over once he gets past the shock.”

“What made you change your mind?”

Jaime shrugs.  “It’s a fifteen second cameo, and I haven’t been in front of a camera since my last music video which is what?  Five years ago?  More?  Besides, Brienne says the script is good.”

The silence that greets his words is deafening.

He glances up to find Tyrion watching him with a thoughtful expression.

“What?”

Tyrion slowly shakes his head.  “Nothing,” he says but Jaime sees him hide a smile behind his glass.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne arrives the same time as Addam.  They gather in the drawing room and Jaime plays host while fending off Addam’s teasing questions about his bruised face.

“It was Brienne’s fault,” Jaime says, trying to look as plaintive and vulnerable as possible.

Brienne snorts. “You were making a move on another man’s girl,” she says.

“Which he wasn’t supposed to see,” he mutters.

Addam and Tyrion exchange a glance then laugh.  “Well, glad to know you’re still the same old Jaime,” Addam says.

Jaime shrugs.  “Did you talk to the scriptwriter?”

“Podrick Payne?  Yeah.  He’s over the moon you’ve agreed to do the movie.”

Brienne’s head snaps round to look at him and Jaime blinks as her beaming smile lights up the room.

“You’re going to do it?” she says.

Jaime shrugs.  “I told you I would.  Besides, a cameo won’t take much time.”

“Yeah...” Addam says, “about that...”

Jaime’s eyes narrow.  “What about ‘that’?”

Addam shifts uncomfortably and says, “There was a bit of a misunderstanding in my original conversation with Pod.”

Jaime’s eyes narrow even more.  “Oh?”

“Yeah...he wants you for the lead.”

“Lead!  _Lead!_   I can’t act!”

Brienne looks startled then thoughtful.  “Oh,” she says softly, “I can see it.”

Jaime glares at her.  “Are you insane? I just said I can’t act!”

Tyrion snorts.  “You’re a better actor than you’ll admit,” he says drily.  “You wouldn’t have survived this long in the celebrity spotlight if you weren’t.”

“And you can take lessons,” Brienne says helpfully.

“Besides, it’s a low-budget, straight-to-video kind of movie.  Nobody’s going to see it,” Addam says.  “Hell, he can’t even afford to pay you!  He’s offering you ten percent on the back-end, which means you’ll be working for free.”

“Perfect for learning how to act,” Tyrion says.

Jaime pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes.  “You’re all idiots,” he mutters, “and you’ll be the ones reimbursing this poor kid when I ruin his movie.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime glares at Brienne after the others leave.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” he growls.

Brienne blinks.  “Wait a minute!  All I said was I liked the script!”

He sniffs.  “There you go again, you sweet talker you,” he mutters and is rewarded with her laugh.

*/*/*/*/*

The next couple of weeks pass in a blur—and thankfully...or unfortunately—the blur is not due to an excess of alcohol and women.

Jaime signs the contract to do the movie then finally sits down and reads the script—and wonders what the fuck he was thinking.  Brienne is right:  the script is quirky and unpredictable and funny, a romantic comedy that’s neither cloyingly sweet nor cringe-inducing ham-handed in its comedy.  He does find himself rather wistfully rooting for the male lead to fall for the female lead’s plucky sidekick if only because the plucky sidekick is a more interesting character.  Still.  What does he know about movies or romantic comedies or women, for that matter?

He takes Brienne’s advice and starts looking for an acting coach.  He’s still waiting for his quarterly royalty payment, so he can’t really hire anyone yet, but he wants somebody lined up for when he does have money again.  Besides the acting coach, he’ll need to pay back Tyrion and Addam—although he knows they’ll take their salaries and what he owes them for the last few weeks first.  More importantly, he’ll finally be able to pay Brienne to focus on finding Bronn and investigating who murdered Jazz Peckledon.  The case, he knows, has already gone cold for the Gold Cloaks—or mayhaps the investigation has stalled because Bronn disappeared and certainly had time to commit the crime.

Jaime doesn’t know where Bronn has gone, although he has a sneaking suspicion he isn’t going to like the answer when he learns it.  But there’s one thing he _does_ know:  Bronn would not have killed that poor girl.

*/*/*/*/*

In the couple of weeks since Olenna Tyrell’s party, Jaime studies his script, writes songs, and teases Brienne and Nan, and Nymeria, too, when she’s around.  He meets with Tyrion and Addam every day, explores and re-arranges his house, and writes more songs.  He hasn’t been this creative in years, and Addam’s already making arrangements for him to record a new album and release it under his own label.

It doesn’t even matter if it bombs, he thinks one night, the six of them sitting at the table in the dining room.  They’re eating Brienne and Nan’s delicious food, talking about nothing in particular, and Jaime suddenly realizes he’s actually…almost… _happy_.

Even if he sometimes yearns for Taena and the life he thought he had created with her.

Even if he wonders where Bronn is.

And even if he wishes he knew who murdered Jazz Peckledon.

*/*/*/*/*

The days pass in a blur for Brienne.  She’s busier than she’s ever been, both with her private investigation business and her catering company.  She’s not sure she can keep up the pace, but without the catering company, Nan wouldn’t have a job.

The cases are more varied now, and she enjoys them.  Only she wishes she could do more for the greater good instead of simply for the rich and famous.

Which is why, when the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Barristan Selmy himself, asks her to meet with him, she jumps at the chance.

*/*/*/*/*

She walks into Barristan Selmy’s office and gives him what she hopes is a coolly professional smile.

“Ms Tarth,” he says, shaking her hand.

“Lord Commander,” she says and takes the seat he indicates.

“I’ve heard many good things about you, Ms Tarth.  You’ve done some outstanding—and discreet—work for some friends of mine.”

“Oh?” she says with a polite smile and Lord Commander Selmy grins.

“I see the stories of your discretion have not been exaggerated.”

She flushes a little at the compliment then says, “What can I do for you, Lord Commander?”

“I need your help to reconnoiter a location and plant some listening devices.”

Brienne stares, her face expressionless.

Barristan grins again and leans back in his chair.   “Have you heard of Beric Dondarrion?”

“Of course.  He’s only the most notorious criminal in Westeros.”

“Yes.  The leader of the Brotherhood without Banners—or the Mob, as we prefer to call them.  They prey on the weak and the vulnerable while pretending to protect them.”

Brienne smiles a little at the disgust in the older man’s voice.  “What do you want me to do?”

“Beric Dondarrion’s favourite restaurant is Lady Stoneheart’s.”

Brienne’s eyes widen.  “ _The_ most exclusive restaurant in King’s Landing?”

“Yes.  You have to be an A-list celebrity, or a member of the royal family or of a Great Houses just to get within spitting distance of the door.”

She raises an eyebrow.  “You’re a highborn, Lord Commander, and wealthy in your own right.”

“But not a member of a Great House.  More importantly, I _am_ also Lord Commander, as you point out.  I and the rest of my Kingsguard are as well-known as the royal family themselves.  To get inside is virtually impossible, and to get inside often enough to plant surveillance devices is absolutely impossible.”

“And you think I can get past the front doors?  I’m no celebrity and I’m also not from a Great House.”

Barristan Selmy slowly smiles.  “You have some well-known friends and one _very_ well-known friend in particular.  I have it on good authority that Lady Stoneheart would…hmm…do almost anything to have him darken her doorstep.  I’m sure you’ll find the doors to the restaurant will open far more easily for you than for me or my Kingsguard.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime looks suspicious the moment Brienne walks into the music room bearing a gift.

He eyes the creamy chocolate mousse in the delicate crystal bowl with equal measures of suspicion and lust and says, “What do you want?”

“Can’t I just make a treat and share it with you?” Brienne asks as she puts the bowl on top of the piano.

“No.”

She shrugs.  “Fine, I’ll eat it myself,” she says, reaching for the bowl.

He quickly snatches it out of her reach.  “I didn’t say you could take it away!  I just know you want something.”

“I need your help getting into the most exclusive restaurant in town.”

“Lady Stoneheart’s?  Ha!  Never!”  He licks his lips as Brienne hands him a dessert spoon.  “Why do you want to go there anyway?  Your food is better.”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “I have a case.”

“What kind of case?”

“I can’t say.”

He eyes her suspiciously as he pops a spoonful of the sinfully good mousse into his mouth.  He closes his eyes and moans a little and Brienne has a sudden, wild vision of doing things with chocolate mousse that had never crossed her mind until that very moment.

She gulps a little and wishes she had even half of Nymeria’s uninhibited self-confidence.  Not that Jaime would take her up on the offer, of course…but still…

“So all I have to do is get us into the restaurant?”

Jaime’s voice startles her back to the moment.  He’s smirking at her as he licks a bit of chocolate from his upper lip and she bites back a moan of her own.

She glances away and nods.

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “And if I say no?”

“Why would you say no?”

“Besides the fact that Lady Stoneheart would love to string me up from the nearest tree, private detecting is your thing, not mine.  I have my own things to do.”

“Oh, come on—you had fun the last time!”

“Sure.  Until my chin fell on to that guy’s fist.”

“Are you so craven, then?”

He waggles the dessert spoon at her in warning.  “Nice try.  Not going to work.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime sits, arms crossed over his broad chest, and pouts as the car pulls away from the house.

“I honestly don’t know why I agree to these things,” he mutters.

Brienne adjusts the skirt of the same frumpy dress she wore to Olenna Tyrell’s party and gives him a smug smile.

“Don’t look so smug,” Jaime growls.  “Using my own weaknesses against me.  That’s low.”

She can’t help it:  she snickers.  “Being a chocoholic is a burden you’ll just have to learn to bear.”

He sniffs again then turns to look at her with a frown.

“Is that the only dress you own?”

She flushes a little.  “The only one that’s even close to being acceptable for a restaurant like this.”

“Barely.  When was the last time you had enough money to go shopping for clothes, Brienne?”

She blushes a little.  “I’m not much of a shopper,” she mumbles.  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the type to be a clothes horse.”

Jaime looks taken aback.  “Are you serious?  You’re exactly the type to be a clothes horse!”

Brienne gives him an incredulous glare.  “What are you talking about?” she snaps.

“You’re what?  Six three?”

“Yes.”

“You’re in good shape—not an ounce of fat on you, even though you make sinfully delicious and irresistible chocolate desserts.”  He cocks his head, considering her critically.  “You have good lines.”

“Good lines?  What am I, a horse?”

Jaime laughs.  “A thoroughbred.”

Brienne rolls her eyes even as a hot blush heats her cheeks.

“You’re not conventionally beautiful, no,” Jaime continues and the words are like small punches to her heart, “but you certainly have presence.  All I’m saying, Brienne, is that I think you could be quite striking if you had a personal stylist to dress you and do your hair and makeup.”

“Right,” she says, her voice flat.  “And I’m not good enough the way I am?”

Jaime raises his hands in mock surrender.  “Hey, I’m not talking about how you look on a normal day, which is perfectly nice, by the way, although how you find pants long enough for those endless legs is anybody’s guess.  And whatever makes you happy and comfortable is what you should wear.  But I’m talking about moments like this, where we’re going to be going to a restaurant or some other public event—like Olenna Tyrell’s party—and we’re going to be subjected to the glare of the varysazzi and tabloids and social media, and none of those are particularly kind.  Now, again:  if that dress you’re wearing is something you like and it makes you feel good, then that’s one thing.  But if it doesn’t give you the confidence to face that gauntlet of judgmental gawkers, then it’s time to think of a different strategy.”

Brienne’s eyes are wide as Jaime finishes talking.

“Are...are you giving me advice?” she finally says.

He grimaces.  “I know.  You really shouldn’t listen to _Jaime fucking Lannister_.”  He glances out the window as the car slides to smooth stop.  Brienne sees the varysazzi are already swarming towards the limo.  Jaime turns to look at her, a cynical gleam in his green eyes.  “But remember:  I’ve been a celebrity since I was seventeen.  I may have learned a thing or two over the years.”

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne blinks as she returns to herself in the control room._

_“He’s right, you know,” Jaime says and she frowns at him._

_“About what?”_

_“That you could be really striking if you had a stylist help you out.”_

_She lifts her chin and glares.  “I’m perfectly happy the way I am, thank you very much.”_

_Jaime grins.  “Well, you definitely have great legs.  You should wear shorts more often.”_

_She blushes.  “Stop it,” she says, a warning note in her voice._

_He lifts his hands in surrender and starts to power the generators back to full power._

*/*/*/*/*

_“Well,” Brienne says as the computer softly pings thirty minutes later, “at least you haven’t been punched yet.”_

_“And we haven’t kissed or ended up in bed,” Jaime says agreeably._

_Brienne blushes._

_“That, too,” she mutters, and hastily hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N2:** I'm obviously basing my Briennes more on how Show!Brienne looks than how Book!Brienne looks...although I do wonder if Book!Brienne is going to become more 'beautiful' as Book!Jaime begins to look at her through loving eyes. Gods, they better be in _The Winds of Winter!!_ :D


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Canon-compliant coarse language in a couple of places, but nothing too bad.
> 
>  **A/N:** This section went faster than expected. We’ll see how the next section goes… ;P

 

*/*/*/*/*

Walking into Lady Stoneheart’s is like walking into a documentary of the who’s who in King’s Landing.  The ‘acting royalty’ branch of the Targaryens is holding court in one corner:  Daenerys and her brothers, Rhaegar and Viserys, along with their assorted significant others of the moment.

In the opposite corner is the former ‘King of the Movies’, Robert Baratheon and his wife, Lyanna, along with their son, Jon.  Brienne’s inner eyebrow rises, however, when she catches how Lyanna and Rhaegar steal glances at each other when they think nobody’s looking.

At a third table is Olenna Tyrell, her son and all her grandchildren, while the Manderleys of the North—high-powered producers and directors known for their melodramatic flair, labyrinthine plots, and dark-edged themes—are at the table next to the Tyrells.

In the corner farthest from the door but still with a clear view of it is Beric Dondarrion with several serious looking men round him.  The most serious of them all is sitting by Beric’s right hand and Brienne recognizes him as Edric Dayne.  Edric gives them a coldly assessing look before dismissing them with a flick of his eyes.

There are several more tables, filled with other A-list celebrities of stage and screen, and there, in pride of place at the centre of the restaurant, with a good view of all the tables, is Petyr Baelish, owner of the PB Channel and the most well-known purveyor of pornography in Westeros, and beside him is his wife, Catelyn, better known as Lady Stoneheart and the owner of this restaurant.

“Fuck,” Jaime says through a gritted, toothy smile as they’re shown to their table, “I’d hoped she wouldn’t be here.  I may need a food taster tonight.”

Brienne frowns.  “Why?”

“Catelyn Baelish hates me.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

His smile is thin as he holds her chair for her.  His eyes are glittering with some emotion she can’t decipher as he takes his own seat across from her.

“No,” he says as he accepts the discreetly offered menu, “everyone else is annoyed by me, but that woman actually _hates_ me.”

Brienne waits until the pretty waitress finishes telling them about the evening’s specials then takes their drink order before gliding gracefully away and then she says, “Why?”

Jaime shoots her a puzzled frown then raises an eyebrow as he recognizes the honest confusion on her face.

“You really have been living under a rock all your life, haven’t you?” he says.

She flushes and rolls her eyes.  “Just tell me.”

Jaime opens his mouth then leans back as the waitress returns with their drinks before once again discreetly melting away.

He leans on the table, folding his hands in front of him.  “Have you at least _heard_ of Lysa Tully?”

“Of course,” Brienne snaps. Lysa Tully had been the most popular female rock star of Brienne’s freshman year of college.  Lysa had been young, beautiful, wildly talented, and tragically flawed.  She’d exploded on to the music scene with her rebelliously subversive debut album, _Family, Duty, Honor,_ and it became the soundtrack for every young girl trying to find her own way in life while struggling against family and societal pressures.

Jaime nods.  “Then you know she’s the younger sister of our hostess, Catelyn Tully Baelish, also known as the famous rock star, Lady Stoneheart.”

Brienne jerks a short nod as she taps her finger on the menu.

Jaime says, “Good.  Then you likely _also_ know that Lysa and I had a short-lived fling.  Very short-lived.”

Brienne frowns.  She hadn’t paid any more attention to celebrity gossip then as she does now.  She’s never cared about the personal lives of the celebrities whose work she enjoys; she just wants to enjoy their work.  In fact, the less she knows, the more she _can_ enjoy the art they create.

Jaime raises an eyebrow and shakes his head.  “This town is going to eat you alive,” he says.

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “So what’s the story?”

Jaime sighs and looks suddenly sad.  “Lysa had brilliant talent—blinding, almost—but she told me she felt smothered by the shadow of her big sister who had already made it big a couple years earlier.  And Lysa was... _fragile_.  By the time I met her, she was at the peak of her success but she was also drug addicted and spiralling out of control.  We had a fling and—for the record—its end was mutual...or as mutual as it can be when you’re barely together in the first place.  Honestly, it was like a one-night stand spread out over two weeks.  Anyway, despite what the tabloids claimed, I didn’t cause Lysa Tully’s stints in rehab or her subsequent breakdown.  But you can’t convince her sweet sister of that.”

Brienne frowns.  “So, basically, Catelyn Baelish thinks you drove her sister crazy?”

Jaime pauses, considering, then shrugs and says, “Yes.”

Brienne glances at the beautiful, auburn-haired woman sitting at the centre table.  Lady Stoneheart is watching them with hate-filled and ice-cold blue eyes.

“Well,” Brienne murmurs, “Lysa Tully’s been a resident at the Eyrie for the last ten years.  Hasn’t she shown any improvement?”

Jaime shrugs again.  “I have no idea,” he says.  “I told you:  the fling was brief—a couple of weeks, at most.  It’s not like we even liked each other all that much.  We had some fun and then went our separate ways.  I think she began her first stint in rehab a month or two later, which is why the rumor mill started churning to begin with.  I was on the ‘Sends His Regards’ tour by the time she hit rock bottom.”

Brienne frowns, faint bells of celebrity gossip ringing in the back of her mind.  “I heard you directed a lot of those songs at Lysa Tully,” she says slowly.  “I remember friends of mine saying that the songs on that album were what helped drive Lysa Tully over the edge.”

Jaime sighs.  “I’m not certain where that rumor started, but it’s definitely not true.  The whole album is really angry, aimed at my father and the music industry, both of which know how to royally screw people over.  Besides, the whole thing was written and recorded at least six months before I ever met Lysa.  It’s also not the kind of album I’d direct towards a person as fragile as Lysa was at the time.”  He gives her a thin smile.  “I’m an asshole.  I’m not a _jerk_.”

“But you just said you directed a lot of those songs at your father.”

Jaime’s chuckle is coldly humorless as he picks up his wine.  “I can call my father many things—and believe me, I have!—but I have never once considered him ‘fragile’.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime may be nothing more than a hedonistic, self-centred rock star, but that doesn’t mean he’s a complete idiot.

The moment he saw Beric Dondarrion in the restaurant, he knew the target of Brienne’s mysterious case.  As the evening progresses, he tells her more about his history with Lady Stoneheart and her husband, Petyr Baelish—the bastard who made his fortune by stealing video of Jaime’s naked cock—all while Jaime keeps a charming smile on his lips and anger sparking in his eyes.

When he gets her home, he thinks, he’s going to tell her in no uncertain terms what he thinks about her allowing herself to be dragged into anything that has to do with the Brotherhood without Banners.  The Mob is dangerous and whatever it is she’s up to needs to end before anyone catches wind of it.

He leans across the table after the waitress delivers their appetizers.

“All right,” he murmurs, giving her his most charming smile for the benefit of their observers, “tell me what you’re trying to accomplish.”

Brienne blinks her large, beautiful eyes and he’s distracted for a moment with watching a flush creep into her cheeks.

“I can’t tell you,” she mutters.

“Well, you’re not going to get close to that table in the corner on your own,” he says.

Her flush deepens and he didn’t think it possible, but her eyes are even more beautiful when they sparkle with anger.  “And you think you can?”

“Just watch me,” he says with a smirk and winks as he lifts his wine glass.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne most likely finally tells him her assignment simply to prevent him from sauntering over to the table in question and blowing everything out of the water.  She explains her goal—to plant a listening device somewhere on Beric Dondarrion’s regular table—and Jaime’s impressed with the way she makes sure no one in the restaurant can get a clear look at her mouth as she speaks.  He doubts anyone can read lips that well or is even paying that much attention to them, but still.  It’s a precaution that proves Brienne thinks ahead to identify potential risks and then acts to mitigate them.

He rather wishes he had that same tendency.  It would have saved him a lot of embarrassment over the years...not to mention all of his money.

For a moment, the memory of Taena cuts deep and he misses her and the life he thought they had with every fibre of his being.

He glances round the restaurant until his gaze once again collides with Lady Stoneheart’s cold, angry stare.  He steadily meets her glare then raises an eyebrow as he lifts his wine glass in salute and is rewarded with Catelyn’s lips twisting into a sneer as she turns her attention back to her husband.

Jaime looks back at Brienne and sighs.

“If you get caught, they’ll kill you,” he says.

“I won’t get caught,” she says.

He shakes his head.  “I’ll get you to the table,” he says.  “The rest is up to you.”

*/*/*/*/*

They’re waiting for dessert when Jaime decides it’s time.  Beric and his men are on their after-dinner coffees and Jaime leans closer to Brienne and says, “I think now would be a good time to begin working the room.  Do you have the thing in your purse?”

She frowns and nods.

“You may want to go to the washroom and get the thing ready.”

She blinks and he wonders how she’s going to deceive dangerous men like Beric and his soldiers with such innocent eyes.  Then she blinks again, gives him an awkward smile and says, “I’ll be right back.”

She unfolds her length from the chair and he admires the sway of her arse beneath that truly unflattering dress as she walks towards the washrooms before he shifts his gaze and meets Edric Dayne’s incredulous stare.  He grins at the man, who has the grace to look embarrassed to be caught staring.  Jaime grabs his wine glass and saunters over to the other man’s table.

“Jaime Lannister,” he says, holding out his hand to Edric.  “Excuse me for interrupting your dinner but...are you a Dayne?”

Edric exchanges a baffled glance with Beric before slowly reaching out and shaking Jaime’s hand.  “Edric Dayne,” he says.

“Ser Arthur Dayne’s...son?”

Edric’s eyes narrow.  “Nephew.  You knew my uncle?”

Jaime chuckles.  “We crossed paths a time or two, yes,” he says.  He glances over his shoulder to find Petyr Baelish and Lady Stoneheart staring with sharp, watchful eyes.  He nods at them and says, his voice slightly raised so his words drift clearly to everyone in the restaurant, “Ser Arthur lectured me to no end after Petyr Baelish acquired—illegally, I might add—that notorious sex tape he used to build his porn business.”

Petyr slowly smiles.  “You made me a fortune,” he says and raises his glass in salute while Lady Stoneheart sharply turns her back to Jaime.

Jaime raises his own glass in mock salute and turns back to Edric.  “Tell me, was your uncle that sanctimonious with his family members or was I just lucky?”

Edric stares, expressionless.

Jaime grimaces and says, “Have my words offended you?  I’m sorry.  Was he your favourite uncle?  Or mayhaps you were his favourite nephew and so he never lectured you even once.”  He glances at Beric and back to Edric.  “Even despite the company you keep.”

Beric and his men straighten in their chairs.  “What does that mean?” Edric growls.

“Oh, please,” Jaime says, and wonders how long it’s going to take Brienne to return from the ladies’ room.  “As one man with a less-than-stellar reputation to others, I know what it’s like to have friends and relatives who walk a different path but love us anyway.  I’ve received my fair share of lectures, but only two from Ser Arthur.”  He sips his wine with a thoughtful air.  “Or was it three?  Regardless, the first two were definitely memorable!”  He gives Edric and the others a charming, self-deprecating smile as he sees Brienne finally returning from the ladies’ room.  “I meant no disrespect to the memory of your uncle,” he says.  “He and I may have had our run-ins, but he was a good man.  Seeing you brought back memories...some of which I wish I could forget!”

He glances over as Brienne stops beside him with a smile and curious glances from him to the men at the table and back to him.  He holds out his hand and after a moment of hesitation and a shy smile, she delicately places her hand in his.  He feels the tiny listening device pressing into his palm as he turns to the table.

“This is my friend, Brienne Tarth.”  He returns his gaze to Brienne.  “I was just asking this gentleman if he was related to Ser Arthur Dayne.”

She frowns.  “The former commander of the Gold Cloaks?” she asks.

“Yes,” Edric says.  “And you are a private investigator.”

“Yes,” she says.  “I’m surprised you’ve heard of me.”

Beric chuckles and speaks for the first time.  “You cleared _The Jaime Lannister_ of murder.  Everyone’s heard of you.  Mayhaps I need to hire you to work for me.”  He stands and holds out his hand. 

Brienne disentangles her hand from Jaime’s, leaving the tiny bug clinging to his palm.  She shakes Beric’s hand with every appearance of shy pleasure.

Beric’s smile doesn’t change as he holds on to her hand.  “Please, join us for an after-dinner coffee.”

“Oh, no,” she says, shaking her head and blushing, although she doesn’t try to tug her hand free from Beric’s grip.  “We don’t want to intrude!”

Beric’s smile is charming but his eyes are watchful, and Jaime sees the man’s fingers tighten round Brienne’s hand. 

“No, no,” Beric says smoothly, “we’ve finished our business, and it’s not every day we have the opportunity to speak with _the_ Jaime Lannister.”  He turns his coldly assessing eyes to Jaime.  “I’ve never seen you in this restaurant before.”

“Most likely because I’ve never been here before,” Jaime says with a smile as he looks pointedly at Beric’s and Brienne’s joined hands.  His smile is bland as he glances again at Lady Stoneheart before once again meeting Beric’s gaze.  “I’m sure I don’t have to explain why.”

“And yet, here you are,” Beric purrs.

Jaime shrugs.  “If you’ll stop manhandling my date, we can sit down and I’ll be more than happy to explain why we’re here,” he says, an edge to his voice.

Beric’s smile is mocking as he finally releases Brienne’s hand.  “Date?” he says.  “Really?”

Jaime holds out Brienne’s chair for her then lifts her hand to his lips.  He brushes a soft kiss against her knuckles as he transfers the bug back to her hand.

“Really,” he says firmly to Beric, then borrows a chair from a neighbouring table and places it between Brienne and Beric.

“You know Brienne is a private investigator but did you know she’s also a caterer?” he says as he sits down.  “I may be biased, but I think she’s the best chef in King’s Landing.  Unfortunately, she keeps insisting the best chef works here, at Lady Stoneheart’s.  I bet that she was wrong and that I wouldn’t enjoy the food here nearly as much as I enjoy hers.  Unfortunately, the only way to settle the bet was to actually eat here.”  He heaves a long-suffering sigh.  “Truth be told, I think she just wanted to eat something she hasn’t cooked herself.”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “Oh, please,” she mutters.

Jaime leans conspiratorially closer to Beric.  “She bribed me.  With the most sinfully delicious chocolate mousse it’s ever been my pleasure to experience.  Brilliant, though, really.  Who’d ever suspect someone of betting _against_ themselves just to get out of the house?”

Brienne touches his shoulder and he glances over his shoulder at her.

“Well, my mousse won’t hold a candle to the one served here.”  She glances over her shoulder at their table and Jaime sees the waitress approaching with their desserts.  Brienne turns back to the table.  “We can go back to our table or—”

“No, no,” Beric instantly says and motions the waitress over.  “Please, stay.  We don’t mind if you finish your meal with us.”

“Thank you,” Brienne says with a smile and relaxes back in her chair.

Jaime raises an eyebrow at her and she gives him a sweet smile and a nod, and for a moment he forgets they’re sitting with the most dangerous man in Westeros.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime throws himself face down on the couch in their drawing room and says, “Never accept a case like that again, Brienne!  Do you have any idea what Beric Dondarrion and his men would do to us if they realized what we were doing?”

“Well, hopefully they didn’t,” she says with a defiant lift to her chin.

He sits up and glares.  “Well, _also_ hopefully, they won’t find that bug for months and by then, they won’t have any clear suspicions who planted it.”

She plops down on the opposite couch, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest, and glares at him.

“Oh, don’t pout,” he growls.

Brienne gasps.  “I do not pout!”

“You so do!  What made you agree to take such an insane assignment anyway?”

Brienne flushes.  “I just wanted to work a case that would help somebody other than just the rich and famous,” she mutters.

Jaime sighs.  “I don’t know what to say to that,” he mutters, “except to say I am _never_ helping you again!  I don’t care how many chocolate mousses you throw my way!”

*/*/*/*/*

Two weeks later, Brienne walks into the music room carrying a slice of dark chocolate cheese cake.

Jaime takes one look at her and says, “No.  Absolutely not.”

“Come on, Jaime,” she says, slowly waving the plate in front of him.  “I have to do security at a party at Lady Tarly’s and I need a cover.”

“Well, I’m not exactly low profile.”

“Exactly what I need.”

“You just said you need a cover!”

“Haven’t you ever heard of something called ‘wag the dog’?”

“Is that some PI code for kinky sex?”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “No!  It’s causing everyone to focus in one place while you do what you need to do somewhere else.”

“Well, they’ll be focused on me, all right.  The Tarly family is made of up of nothing but overly respectable people; I’m not exactly their usual party guest!”

“Look, I just want you and Nym to go in and while all eyes are on you, I’ll do my reconnaissance.”

“Hells, no!”

“You won’t do it?”

“Not with Nymeria, that’s for certain!  I don’t need any more public nudity arrests on my record!”

Brienne pauses, blinking.  “How many do you have?”

“None!  And that’s how I want it to stay!”

“Oh, come on!”  She seductively waggles the chocolate cheese cake in front of his eyes.

“Hah!  No.  I’m not doing it.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime wonders how he ends up in these situations as the police arrive to arrest the two thieves he and Brienne found breaking into Lord Tarly’s safe.

“I told you no,” he complains to Brienne on the way home.  “I heard me say no to you.  I know you heard me say no to you.  How the fuck did I end up going with you?”

Brienne blinks guileless blue eyes and says, “I guess I’m just convincing.”

“No—you promised to make me two more of those sinfully delicious chocolate cheesecakes.”

“That’s being convincing, isn’t it?”

“Well, this is the last time, Legs, I swear it!  My heart can’t take any more of this shit.”

*/*/*/*/*

As Jaime chases after Brienne, who’s chasing down a wiry little man with Lady Hornwood’s diamond necklace clutched in his hand, Jaime wonders when ‘the last time’ is ever going to actually arrive.

*/*/*/*/*

“At least he hit you in the head,” Brienne says a week or so later as she helps him on to a chair in the kitchen.  The man suspected of stealing a priceless painting from the Westeros Museum of Art had been remarkably difficult to subdue and Jaime still doesn’t know how the jerk got behind him.

Jaime gives Brienne a questioning look then winces as she puts an ice pack against the swelling goose egg on the back of his head.

“Your skull’s as thick as a castle wall,” she says with a helpful air then smiles.

He half-laughs, half-groans and grits his teeth against the pain.

“Legs,” he growls, “you’re just lucky I don’t start filming the movie until next month.”

*/*/*/*/*

“Thank gods,” Jaime groans to Tyrion.  “The royalties arrived just in time.  Plus the movie is going to start filming in two weeks.  That should save me.”

“You still can’t act.”

“Yes, but at least I won’t be getting punched by criminals.”

“Just stop hurting the face,” Tyrion says with a bored shrug.  “You don’t want to do any permanent damage and break the hearts of all your screaming fans.”

“I love you, too, Tyrion,” Jaime growls and rolls his eyes.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne eyes Jaime suspiciously as he saunters into the drawing room followed by a red-haired woman who stops at the sight of her to give her an incredulous stare.

“Legs,” Jaime says briskly, “I’d like you to meet Senelle.  I’ve hired her to be your personal stylist for a few days.”

Brienne surprised by the rage and hurt that surges through her.

“ _What?_ ”

Jaime raises a hand.  “Before you get insulted, hear me out.”

She glares but then remembers she was cleaning his cuts and bruises a couple weeks ago that he only received because he agreed to help her on a case.  She subsides, her arms crossed tight over her chest.

“My royalty payment arrived,” Jaime says briskly.

Brienne scowls.  “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It means I’m somewhat flush with cash again, and I want to hire you to focus on finding Jazz Peckledon’s murderer.  If you happen to find Bronn in the process, that’s even better.”

Brienne’s scowl only deepens.  “And Senelle?”

“Her services are part of my payment to you.”  He shakes his head.  “Seriously, Legs, if you’re going to be seen at these celebrity parties and mixing with potential clients, you need to dress the part, otherwise you’re just going to continue to be pilloried on social media.”

“I don’t care what some strangers on the Internet say,” she sniffs.

“Unfortunately, in the celebrity sub-culture, most of them do.  Besides, you can’t do your job if you can’t blend in.”

“I don’t care,” she snaps.  “I don’t need a personal stylist and I won’t use her.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne stands, stiff and uncomfortable, as Senelle thoughtfully considers her.

“Jaime’s right,” Senelle say finally, “you have great lines.”

Brienne rolls her eyes.

“Trust me, Brienne,” Senelle says with a smile, “I’m only here to help you.  I’ll set you up with several outfits and teach you some make-up tips that will have you looking gorgeous no matter where you’re going or what you’re doing.”

Brienne just closes her eyes and groans.

*/*/*/*/*

A week later, Brienne, Nan and Nymeria stand on the front step and watch as the limo, with Jaime in the back seat with his new acting coach, pulls away.  He’s off to Dragonstone to begin working on the movie, and Brienne can’t help but feel a pang of loneliness and longing as the car turns the corner and disappears from sight.

“You’ll be too busy to miss him,” Nymeria says briskly.

“I wouldn’t miss him anyway,” she says, but even she can hear the forlorn note in her voice.

Nan snorts.

Brienne turns and gives them a determined smile.  “Never mind Jaime.  We have a murder to solve, so let’s get going.”

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne blinks and turns to look at Jaime._

_Jaime shakes his head then simply gives her a smirk and offers her the popcorn._

*/*/*/*/*

_“So, will you tell me what Megastar Jaime gets up to on the movie set?” Brienne idly asks as she makes her notes and waits for the generators to once again reach full power._

_Jaime snickers.  “Will you tell me what PI Brienne gets up to?”_

_She gives him a haughty glare.  “Absolutely not!  Maybe she’s going to go have a fling with somebody.”_

_Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “Really?  She planning on that?”_

_Brienne deflates.  “No.  But it could happen!”_

_The computer pings and Jaime grins._

_“It absolutely could,” he says with a nod and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Canon-level coarse language (although not much of it). Discussion of murder and violence. Mention of drugs. Sexual situations. Nothing too explicit, though, I don't think.
> 
> **A/N:** Oh my gods: this universe turned into my own Mereenese knot. This (last!!) section for this universe clocks in at ~11,800 words...I’m terrified how long the last two universes are going to end up being...O.O

  ***/*/*/*/***

Karl and Morgan shake Brienne’s hand and wave her to a seat in front of their desks.

“The Jazz Peckledon case has gone cold,” Brienne says briskly, “and Jaime Lannister has hired me to look into it.”

“Of course it’s gone cold:  our only person of interest has disappeared,” Karl says with a bitter twist to his lips.

“Do you have any idea where he’s gone?”

“We think Jaime Lannister knows but isn’t talking to protect himself and his friend.”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “Jaime has no motive to kill the girl.  What?  A lost week filled with sex and fueled by alcohol was going to destroy his reputation?”

Morgan smiles a little.  “He was angry about Taena, and took it out on Pia.  He wouldn’t be the first.  He won’t be the last.”

“So, you think he sent Bronn back to kill her? That doesn’t fit with your theory.”

“There’s only a half-hour difference between the estimated time of death and Jaime’s arrival at the party.  For all we know, the girl was dead in the backseat of that limo.”

Brienne sighs.  “So, you haven’t found the house where they left Jazz?”

“We’ve canvassed all her friends.  Nobody lives in a house; nobody has come forward to say they saw her that night.  With Bronn Stokeworth’s disappearance, there’s no way of corroborating Jaime’s story.”

“Have you at least found the limo?”

“Abandoned at the International Airport.  It was left there an hour after Jaime arrived at the house.  Besides Jaime’s and Jazz’s DNA in the back seat, there’s nothing to connect the car to the crime.”

Brienne thoughtfully taps her fingers on the table, scowling.

“Why have you come up with your theory of the crime?” she asks.  “I thought you were confident Jaime couldn’t be involved.”

Karl and Morgan exchange a glance then Morgan shrugs in rueful surrender.

“It’s gone cold,” he says to Karl, “and we have other cases.  Maybe she can make some headway.”

“She lives with the prime suspect!”

Morgan shakes his head and flips open the file in front of him.

“You’re wondering why we haven’t completely ruled out Jaime Lannister? Here’s why.”

He lays out a picture of a dark-eyed, dark-skinned, vibrantly beautiful woman with bleached blonde hair.

“Taena Merryweather,” Morgan says.

He pulls out another photo and puts it beside the first, and Brienne’s heart stops.  She’s looking at another dark-eyed, dark-skinned, slightly-less-vibrantly-beautiful woman with bleached blonde hair.

“Pia ‘Jazz’ Peckledon,” she whispers.

*/*/*/*/*

They give her copies of the reports and witness statements along with the autopsy and crime scene photos

Brienne takes it home and she and Nym pore over every page and every detail.

Brienne puts the last page down and sighs.

Nym raises an eyebrow.

“There’s no sign of a struggle,” Brienne says slowly, a frown line scrunching the centre of her forehead.

“Toxicology shows a blood alcohol level of .13,” Nym says.  “There are also traces of cocaine and Ecstasy in her system.  So she was impaired, yes, but she shouldn’t have been to the point of unconsciousness.”

Brienne’s frown deepens.  “She also ate not long before she died:  cheeseburger, fries, a soft drink and some kind of chocolate cake, possibly a brownie.”

“So, what?  Are you suggesting she was drugged through the food?”

Brienne sighs and shakes her head.  “I don’t know.  But I do know there are drugs out there that don’t last long in the human body.”  She frowns and drums her fingers once again on the table top as she stares at the crime scene photos.  “I mean…you’d expect there to be _some_ struggle when you’re being strangled to death.”

*/*/*/*/*

Karl and Morgan reluctantly agree to ask the crime lab to run tests on Jazz’s stomach contents, even though they make it clear they think it’s likely going to be a waste of time.

“Jaime’s a big man,” Karl says, “and Jazz only weighed 110 pounds.  He could have easily subdued her.  Same with Bronn.”

Brienne nods.  “True.  But let’s run the tests anyway.”

*/*/*/*/*

“What do we do in the meantime?” Nym asks as they drive home and Brienne gives her a smile.

“If you promise not to wreck the place, how would you like a trip to Sunspear?”

*/*/*/*/*

Sin City—Sunspear—is even more over-the-top than Brienne expected.  What she doesn’t expect is to actually be charmed and entertained by it all.  Yes, there’s gambling and free booze and legalized prostitution, but it’s also bright lights and entertainment and a sly, self-aware amusement at the sheer insanity of building such a place in the middle of a desert in the first place.

Still, she has a job to do, and after a day of taking in the sights, Brienne drags a protesting Nymeria out of the Best Little Whorehouse in Dorne and sets her to work.

“I’ve tracked down the hotel worker who claims to have heard Jaime arguing with Jazz during their lost week,” Brienne says, “but he’s not telling me anything else.  Maybe you can get more out of him.”

Nym just sniffs and stares out the window, her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

“Oh, come on, Nym!  You can go have a holiday once we’re finished!”

Nym refuses to look at her as she growls, “The Fowler Twins are the most sought after whores in Sunspear.  I was just lucky they had a cancellation in their schedule.  I won’t get another chance with them until sometime next year!”

Brienne sighs.  “Then take a holiday next year.  _This_ year we’re working.”

*/*/*/*/*

The hotel worker is young, handsome, and even in a city notorious for its beautiful women, he’s easily bedazzled by Nymeria’s charisma and self-confidence.  Brienne would almost be jealous of her friend if she didn’t know it’s as useless as being jealous of the sun.

Still, it takes Nymeria more time than expected before he finally tells them that he heard the argument outside the penthouse suite door as he was delivering room service.  When he was let into the suite, however, Jaime was already passed out again in the bedroom.  He never actually saw the man.

Brienne frowns.  “When was the room trashed, do you know?”

“The same day they left,” he says promptly.  “Mr. Lannister was raving incoherently, like a madman.  His driver and his girlfriend had to practically carry him to the car.”

Brienne makes a note and says, “Was the driver around the whole time?”

He shakes his head.  “He only showed up the day they left.”  He frowns.  “I think he said something about how he’d been looking for them for days.”

Brienne frowns.  “Weren’t Mr. Lannister and Ms Peckledon in the penthouse suite for the entire week?”

“Oh, no.  They showed up the night before they left.  They were only here one night.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne scrolls through the scanned case file documents on her tablet, a heavy frown on her face.

“What’s bothering you?” Nym asks as she idly flips through the hotel’s book of Sunspear’s shows and tours and attractions.

“Every witness statement in this file says Jaime and Jazz were in the penthouse suite for a week.”

“So?”

“So, we now have one of the witnesses changing his story.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne calls Tyrion.

“Jaime’s lost week,” she says.  “How did it start?”

Tyrion half-groans and half-laughs.  “I wish I could forget it, too,” he says.  “How did it start...well, it started with Jaime calling me to say he suspected something was wrong with his bank accounts and that Taena was involved.”

“How did he figure that out?”

“Despite appearances, Jaime actually pays attention to things.  Sometimes.  When the mood hits him.  By that I mean he’ll randomly go and check his accounts, re-read his contracts, look through past royalty payments.  Question the details of my bill, the bastard.”

Brienne snickers a little and says, “So he had one of those moments?”

“Yeah.  And his bank accounts were almost empty, and most of his investments were gone.”

“How is that possible?” Brienne says sharply. “At least the investments.  Wouldn’t that have caused somebody to notice something?  And wouldn’t those types of activities have gone through you or Addam?”

“The investigation is still underway by the Kingsguard, and it’s being headed by Lord Commander Barristan Selmy himself.”

“Right,” Brienne says after a moment of confusion.  “Personal security for the Royal Family plus investigation of organized crime, counterfeiting and financial fraud.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay,” Brienne says, “how this happened is still being investigated.  But going back to Jaime’s lost week:  he called to tell you he’d been robbed.  And then what?”

“He told me he suspected Taena.  Addam and I went immediately to the Kingsguard and they were able to confirm that piece of it immediately.  Unfortunately, Taena was already in the wind.  I told Jaime and he decided to go drown his sorrows and promptly dropped out of sight.”

“And you couldn’t find him for days, right?”

“Right.  I mean, we talked on the phone—or rather, I talked and he grunted and mumbled.  Gods know what actually sunk in for him.  But where he was, physically...gods only know.”

“So he wasn’t in his penthouse suite for the whole week?”

“No.  And I’m not just going on Bronn’s word.  I called the hotel, too, several times.  They told me that suite was empty.”  Tyrion sighs.  “Jaime still managed to trash the place, though.”

*/*/*/*/*

“So, were they lying to Tyrion or to the police?” Nymeria says.

“And why lie at all?” Brienne says with a puzzled frown.  She gives Nym a thoughtful look.  “Do you think you can convince people to talk without necessarily ending up in bed with them?  And without them realizing they’re being questioned for a reason?”

Nymeria raises an eyebrow.  “Well, now, I _do_ love a challenge.”

*/*/*/*/*

It takes Nymeria three days but in the end, she has information that she refuses to share with Brienne until they’re safely back in King’s Landing.

“Okay, now you’re freaking me out,” Brienne says with a puzzled scowl as Nym leads her into a diner filled with noise and clattering dishes.

“ _I’m_ freaking out,” Nymeria says, glancing round.  She leans closer.  “Every one of the witnesses told me a different story than they told the police.”

Brienne frowns.  “I don’t understand.  Why would they do that?”

“Jazz told them to tell anyone who asked that she and Jaime were in the penthouse suite the entire time.  Cash was involved.”

Brienne scowls.  “And the fact the girl was murdered didn’t make any one of them decide to tell the truth?”

Nymeria spreads her hands and shrugs.  “There’s some suspicion that Jazz was connected somehow to the Brotherhood without Banners, or mayhaps the Bloody Mummers.  Crossing either one of those criminal organizations, especially in Sin City, can get you killed.”

“But...why would...” Brienne trails off, frowning.

Nym watches her with a quizzical lift of her eyebrow.

Brienne glances round the diner and leans closer to Nym.  “Catelyn Baelish, also known as Lady Stoneheart, hates Jaime’s with a passion.  And she knows Beric Dondarrion.”

*/*/*/*/*

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Jaime says flatly.

Brienne winces.  “You said yourself, Lady Stoneheart hates your breathing guts.”

“She does, but to think she might have had something to do with my lost week is ridiculous.  Why would she bother?  Revenge?  It’s been what?  Ten years since Lysa Tully had her breakdown?  Catelyn could have taken advantage of so many other missteps of mine...this makes no sense.”

“I’m not even sure she’s involved,” Brienne says with a sigh.  “It’s just...odd that people in Sunspear think Jazz had connections to the Mob.”

“Everyone who lives in Sin City has connections to the Mob,” Jaime says drily.  “Look,” he says with a sigh, “I have no doubt Lady Stoneheart would run me over with a steamroller if she saw me in the street in front of her.  But to—what?  Hire a girl to take me on a bender?  Just at my weakest moment?  How would she even know?”

Brienne remains silent and then she hears Jaime’s sharp intake of breath.

“Taena?”

“I don’t know, Jaime,” Brienne says gently.  “I’m just exploring possibilities right now.”

He heaves a sigh, and even without seeing him, Brienne imagines him pinching the bridge of his nose and a sudden desire to see his handsome face almost makes her double over with longing.

“What do you want to do?” he asks softly.

“I think I need to go to Myr.”

“I think I need to go with you.”

“Is that really a good idea?” she asks, her stomach dropping.

“I’m hoping that if Taena is surprised by me, she’ll be more likely to spill something.”

Brienne sighs.  “Mayhaps,” she says.  “We’ll go once filming’s finished.”

“It won’t be long.  Four more weeks, more or less.”

“How’s the movie going?”

“Pod is so wet behind the ears I feel like I should be wringing him dry.  Then again, I’ve never acted before, so everyone thinks the same about me.  But...yeah.  It’s been...fun.”

“You sound uncertain,” she says, a thread of amusement in her voice.

“I am having fun, and working hard, and everyone says I’m doing a good job.  I just...”

Brienne waits, wondering if he’s missing his music room, or Tyrion and Addam, or just finding acting more of a struggle than he expected.

“I miss you,” he says, his voice low and husky.

It takes a moment for his words to sink in and she blushes, then sternly tells herself he doesn’t miss _her_ ; he means he misses all of them.

“You just miss the home-cooked food,” she says, but there’s a strain in her voice she hopes he doesn’t notice.

“That, too,” he says and chuckles.  “Tell me what else has been going on.  How did you manage to control Nymeria in Sin City long enough to get any work done?”

“I promised she can go back to the Best Little Whorehouse in Dorne the next time the Fowler twins have time in their busy schedule.”

Jaime lets out a low whistle.  “You’re paying Nym too much if she can afford those two ladies!”

Brienne frowns.  “And you know that... _how_?”

“They’re fans,” he says.  His tone is so smug she wishes she could reach through the phone and smack him.  “Of course, I was with Taena when they met me backstage, so I didn’t take them up on their offers.  I’m rather sorry about that now.”

Brienne huffs a soft chuckle, and then there’s comfortable silence until she finally says, softly, “I should let you go.”

“No, no, I’m in no hurry.  Talk to me for a while.”

Brienne hesitates then almost shyly says, “Okay.  What do you want to talk about?”

Jaime’s chuckle rumbles across her nerve endings.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs.  “How about...what are you wearing?”

*/*/*/*/*

To Brienne’s surprise, Jaime calls her every evening.  Sometimes he asks her about what she’s discovered about the case, but mostly he asks her about her day, how she likes Senelle, and shares stories about what’s been happening on the movie set.  More than once she hangs up the phone and is surprised to realize an hour has passed.

Nymeria and Nan start giving her sly, knowing looks that she ignores with as much dignity as she can muster.

As for Senelle, she, true to her word, has augmented Brienne’s admittedly sparse wardrobe with several outfits worthy of the glare of the cameras, and Brienne even practices the makeup techniques Senelle taught her under Nym and Nan’s watchful eyes.  When she follows Senelle’s suggestions, even Brienne admits she looks...better.  Or at least more presentable than when she only had one frumpy dress to wear.

She rather childishly hopes Jaime likes the changes as much as she does, then is appalled by the fact she wants his approval and tells Nym she almost feels she needs to turn in her membership to the Feminists Club.

Nym only snickers and says, “You may want to put a supply of condoms in your room.”

Brienne blushes.  “Don’t be ridiculous!  Jaime would never—”

“Who mentioned Jaime?” Nym says and laughs.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime’s surprised at how he feels when he walks into his house and pauses in the foyer.  He looks round and takes a deep breath.

He feels...he feels...

He feels like he’s _home_ , and he can’t remember having this feeling since he left Casterly Rock to pursue a career in music.  He drops his luggage on the floor and wanders to the music room.  He smiles as he runs his hands over the piano.

He’s lived in hotels since he was seventeen.  He’s had money, yes, but never anything tangible he could point to and say was his.  He always thought he didn’t need it.

Who knew it felt like this?

He looks up as a tall, leggy, blonde goddess walks in the door.  She’s dressed in blue jeans and t-shirt, her hair is sticking up in tufts, her feet are bare, and she has a scowl on her face.

And just like the house, she feels like home.

*/*/*/*/*

“You’re home early,” Brienne says and Jaime smiles.

“The filming wrapped a little earlier than expected.  They’re still working on exteriors and other shots, but they’re finished with the actors.”  He pulls a face.  “Or else they sent me home early so they can cut me from the movie.”

“Cut you?  You’re the lead!”

He shrugs.  “Maybe they’ll start from scratch.”

She rolls her eyes and strolls closer to the piano.  “Well, I’m glad you’re back.  When do you want to go to Myr?”

Jaime shrugs.  “A couple of days.  Let me do my laundry at least.”

Brienne snorts.  “As if you do your own laundry.”

“Let my Angel do the laundry, then,” he says with a laugh.  He pauses and gives her a warm smile.  “It’s good to see you, Brienne.”

She looks down and flushes.  “You should have given some warning.  I would have surprised you with a new outfit and the makeup tips Senelle taught me.”

“You look perfect the way you are,” he says then abruptly sits down at the piano so he doesn’t forget himself and do something that will likely end with another bruised jaw.

Not to mention a bruised ego.

Brienne, thankfully, just rolls her eyes.  “Honestly, Jaime, do you even know how not to flirt?”

He smirks.  “Obviously not.”

*/*/*/*/*

After supper that evening, Brienne and Nymeria take Jaime into the den to talk about next steps and what he can expect when they get to Myr and find Taena.

“I won’t let you be alone with her,” she warns him.

He snorts.  “Do you really think I’m going to do something to her?”

“No, but I don’t want her to be able to say you did.  Between me and Nym, we should be able to keep you in our sights at all times.”

He widens his eyes in mock horror.  “At _all_ times?  That bed is going to be pretty crowded.”

“Works for me,” Nymeria says cheerfully and winks.

Brienne covers her eyes and groans, “Why me?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” Nym says.  Jaime snickers knowingly then yelps as both Brienne and Nymeria smack his shoulders.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Nym scolds.

“That’s rich, coming from you!”

“Can we focus?” Brienne says with a sigh.

Jaime sighs in turn.  “I’m sorry, Brienne.  I’m just trying to distract myself from the fact that my lost week was anything more than just a well-deserved bender after finding out the love of my life had screwed me over and stolen almost everything I owned.”

“It’s just a theory,” Brienne reminds him, “although it’s supported by the fact your memory ends so early in the weekend.  Quite frankly, you’re notorious for your hard-partying ways so the fact you can’t remember anything much after meeting Jazz in the casino is suspicious.”

“You think I was drugged?”

“More than usual, yes.”

Jaime whistles.  “Well, that would explain a lot of things,” he says and his shoulders slump.  He glances from Brienne to Nymeria and back again.  “Contrary to my reputation, I don’t do drugs of any kind.  I tend to have bad reactions to them.  Ask my doctor; he can’t even prescribe pain medication without having a medical team standing by.  Alcohol, on the other hand, goes down well, and even if I was on a bender, it should take more than a couple of drinks to make me black out.”

“So, if you’d been drugged, there would most likely have been a medical emergency of some kind?” Brienne pounces.  “A maester or a nurse or somebody would be called to check on you?”

Jaime shrugs.  “Or they just sat around and waited to see if I would live or die.  Maybe I was supposed to die, if Taena planned this.  Who knows?”

“She already had all your cash,” Nymeria says.

“She was the major beneficiary of my will when we were together.  Addam, Tyrion and Bronn all received a portion, as did a few charities, but the vast majority of it would have been Taena’s.  That was, of course, the first thing I changed after I sobered up.”  Jaime shrugs at their incredulous stares.  “I thought she loved me and not my money.  And now I find out she possibly tried to kill me.”

Brienne shakes her head, frowning.  “That makes no sense.  If she was trying to kill you to inherit, then there was no need for her to steal your money in the first place.  She would have just killed you.”

Jaime blinks, struck.  “You’re right,” he says.  “But if that’s the case...then whoever hired Jazz either didn’t think to tell her about my reaction to drugs, or...”

“Or they didn’t know about it.”

*/*/*/*/*

The air in Myr is warm and sultry.  The hotel they check into is elegant and classy, and Brienne raises an eyebrow at the size of the penthouse suite.

“We should have stayed in separate rooms,” she says mildly.

Jaime snorts a little.  “It doesn’t matter.  The tabloids are going to claim we’re all fucking anyway so we may as well enjoy the comforts of the suite.”

Brienne scowls but she can’t really argue the point, mainly because it’s true.

*/*/*/*/*

The next morning they drive to the lovely, secluded villa close to the beach which Brienne’s sources have told her now belongs to Taena Merryweather. 

Bought with Jaime’s stolen money, but still.

“Do you think she’ll let us in?” Nymeria asks with bright interest as they walk to the door.

Jaime says, “I don’t care if she lets us in so long as she talks to us.”

Brienne frowns.  “What?”

Jaime shrugs.  “She can talk to us outside if she wants.”

Nym snickers.  “Whatever works.”

*/*/*/*/*

They’re shown in by a sour-faced middle-aged maid who rakes Jaime with her eyes then sniffs and hurries away to find her employer.  Jaime’s too tense to pay much attention.  He doesn’t know whether Taena will actually talk to them or whether she’s going to call the police and have them thrown out.  He has no idea how he’s going to react to seeing his ex-lover for the first time since she stole almost everything he had out from under him.  He honestly doesn’t know which will be worse:  seeing her...or not seeing her.

He glances at Brienne and sees the muscles clenching in her jaw and realizes she’s just as tense as he is.  Her eyes meet his and she gives him an encouraging smile and for a moment he takes comfort in the now-familiar but still astonishing depths of her eyes.

“Gods, you two need to get a room already,” Nym mutters on the other side of him, low enough so that only he can hear her.

_I know_ , he thinks just as a door opens and Taena—gloriously beautiful, beautifully treacherous Taena—calls his name and flies, sobbing, into his arms.

He staggers back, his arms automatically going round her to steady himself.

“Oh, thank the gods you’re here!” she cries against his shoulder then lifts her head and kisses him.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime seriously wonders if he’s fallen into an alternate universe.  Taena is clinging to him as if he’d exiled her to this luxurious mansion on the coast of Myr for some imagined slight and he’s now arrived to accept her back into his waiting arms.  Her tears quickly dry and she dismisses Brienne with a flick of her eyes but peers suspiciously at Nymeria.

Taena says, “Let’s go somewhere and talk, Jaime.  Your... _friends_ can wait by the pool and I’ll have Mrs. Westerling serve them some refreshments.”

Jaime sees Brienne’s scowl and bites back an urge to laugh, even as he tries to wrap his head round what game Taena is playing.

“Where I go, they go,” Jaime says, setting Taena firmly away from him.  “There’s nothing we can talk about that they can’t hear.”

A flash of confused irritation crosses Taena’s face as she pouts. 

“You’ve never said no to me before,” she says.

“You’ve never stolen all my money before,” he says drily.

Taena’s eyes widen and fill with tears.  “Is that why you’re here?  Just because of the money?”

She suddenly flings herself against his chest and almost desperately clutches at him.  “I’m so sorry, Jaime!  I never should have done what I did!  I didn’t realize how much I truly loved you until I’d thrown it all away!”  She tilts her head back, her eyes pleading.  “Please—tell me it’s not too late.  Tell me you can somehow forgive me and we can start over.”  She begins to weep.  “Please tell me you still love me!”

Jaime’s now positive he’s in an alternate universe.  Or rather, he hopes he is, because Taena’s making him realize just how stupid he must have been while they’d been together if she truly believes he would take her back after what she’s done.

Yet...

His expression softens as he stares deep into her dark eyes, then he gently pulls the weeping woman closer, enclosing her in warm, comforting hug.  He avoids looking at Brienne even as he rubs a soothing hand up and down Taena’s back and rests his cheek on the top of Taena’s head.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he murmurs against her hair and ignores the sound of what he’s positive is Brienne’s teeth grinding together.  “What happened?”  He drops a light kiss on the top of Taena’s head.  “You can tell me.  You know I’ll forgive you anything.  I love you so much.”

And now, it seems, Taena’s shoulders shake with real sobs.

Jaime continues making soothing noises until finally Taena says, “He—he—he—the money’s gone, Jaime!”  Taena’s voice is thick with tears.  “That fucking bastard stole it right out from under me!”

He blinks and finally dares to meet Brienne’s and Nymeria’s eyes.  He’s both pleased and guilty that Brienne’s eyes are shooting blue flames at him while at the same time he can see the confusion on her face.

“Who’s ‘he’?” Jaime asks, his hand still rubbing soothing circles on Taena’s back.

That makes her sob even harder and Jaime can’t help but roll his eyes.  Brienne catches it and her own eyes widen and her mouth sags open.  He winks then turns back to soothing his erstwhile ex-lover.

Finally, Taena’s tears slow and Jaime says again, “Who’s ‘he’?”

Taena hesitates, leaning back to search his face.  “Will you really forgive me everything?  You’ll take me back?”

He smiles down at her.  “Of course I will, baby.”  He carefully wipes the tears from her cheeks.  “Who’s ‘he’?”

Taena sniffs and looks at him with melting, soulful eyes.  “Bronn.”

Jaime’s jaw drops.  “ _Bronn?_ ”

She nods frantically.  “He showed up about a week or so after I did.  Said he wanted to follow the money, especially since you couldn’t pay him anymore.”  She briefly looks guilty.  “Sorry, darling!”

Jaime shrugs.  “That doesn’t matter right now.  Bronn came here?”

“Yes!  And...I can’t explain it except to say I was missing you so much and he was a reminder of better times and...well...”

“You became lovers,” Jaime says.  “And?”

“And then...yesterday…I went shopping and my credits cards wouldn’t work and I couldn’t get money out of the bank.  I came home and found a note from Bronn.”

Jaime’s sure his face is frozen with stunned disbelief.  “And what did the note say?”

“That it had been fun but he’s gone to Slaver’s Bay, and when I checked my bank accounts, everything was gone!  I’ve been panicking all night!”  She gives him a slow smile.  “You walking in today—it’s a sign from the gods that we were meant to be together.”

Jaime dazedly shakes his head, then says, “Oh, it’s a sign from the gods all right.”  He puts his hands on her shoulders and gives her a besotted smile.  “Now, everything’s going to be all right, baby.”  He glances at Brienne and Nymeria, both watching with varying degrees of disbelief and disgust on their faces, then he turns back to Taena.  “Listen, though, my friends here need to know about Jazz.”

Taena looks honestly confused.  “Jazz?  The music?”

“You may have known her as Pia,” Brienne says briskly.  “Pia Peckledon.”

Taena’s eyes widen then she quickly shakes her head.  “Never heard of her.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow and he looks deep into Taena’s eyes.

“No?” he says softly.

“No.”

He slowly smirks.  “You knew her—or you knew of her.  I can see it in your face.”

Taena flushes, and she frowns.  “You sound like you’re accusing me of something.”

“We’re just trying to get information,” Brienne says briskly.  “We have reason to believe that you knew Pia ‘Jazz’ Peckledon and that you hired her to, erm, distract Jaime while you made good your escape to a place that has no extradition treaty with Westeros.”

Taena rakes Brienne with her eyes, a sneer twisting her lips.  “Who is this creature, Jaime?”

“She’s a private investigator I’ve hired to solve Jazz’ murder.”

Taena gasps.  “ _Murder?_ ”

Nymeria raises an eyebrow.  “I find it hard to believe you don’t know that Jaime was a suspect in a murder investigation.  What?  You came here and never once searched the web to see what Jaime’s been doing?”

Taena’s eyes narrow.  “No, I didn’t,” she snaps.  “I was too busy trying to find a place to live!”

“Right,” Brienne says drily.  “Tell us about Jazz.”

“I told you:  I don’t know anything about her!”

Brienne sighs.  “The police are in the process of subpoenaing Jazz’ bank and phone records.  It’ll be better for you if you tell us what your connection is to the poor girl now rather than after they find something that connects her to you.”

Taena turns her glare on Brienne then gives Jaime a pleading look.

He gives her a reassuring smile.  “Remember:  I’ll forgive you anything, Taena.  Remember how much I love you.”

There’s a flash of triumph on Taena’s face and then she says, “Cat thought it would be a good idea if we kept you distracted for a few days when I was ready to leave for Myr.”

Jaime frowns.  “Cat?”

“Catelyn Baelish.  She’s the one who put me in touch with Jazz.”

Jaime and Brienne silently stare at each other in shock.

“How did Cat know Jazz?” Nymeria asks.

Taena shrugs.  “Jazz was a Baelish Bunny.”

“When did you meet Catelyn?” Jaime says slowly.

Taena shrugs carelessly.  “I’ve known her for a while now.  You were always gone, and I’d run into her at the clubs and restaurants round town.”

“Of course,” he says faintly.  “And she knew what you were planning?  Taking the money, I mean.”

Taena nods, then sidles closer to him.  “She helped me do it, especially when it came to transferring the investments.”  She slides her hands up his chest and over his shoulders.  “I’m sorry, darling.  I was lonely, and convinced you were fucking around on me while you were roaming round the country doing your concerts.”

Jaime puts his hands over Taena’s then looks at Brienne and Nymeria.  “Any other questions?” he asks.

Brienne says to Taena, “What did you give Catelyn for helping you?”

Taena frowns.  “Nothing.  She likes me.  She thought I was in a bad situation and she just wanted to help me escape it.”  She turns back to Jaime.  “But I see now she was mistaken.”  She lifts on her tiptoes to press a lingering kiss against Jaime’s lips then looks up at him with a smile.  “When do you want to go back to Westeros?”

“Tomorrow.”

Taena laughs.  “Oh, darling, you should know better!  I’ll need more time than that to get packed!”

Jaime gently lifts Taena’s hands away from his body and steps away from her.

“No need to pack, Taena.  You won’t be coming with us,” he says.  “Ever.”

Her eyes widen and her jaw drops.  “ _What?_   You just said you’d forgiven me!  You just said you loved me!  You just said you’d take me back!”

Jaime shrugs.  “I lied.”  He looks at Brienne and grins.  “Looks like those acting lessons paid off after all.”

*/*/*/*/*

They return to the hotel in thoughtful silence but, to Jaime’s amusement and hope, Brienne is shooting death-glares at him all the way back to the hotel.  Back in the penthouse suite, they briefly discuss what they’ve learned then Brienne goes to her bedroom to phone Morgan and Karl and get them working on the latest leads.

Once they’re alone, Nymeria looks at Jaime and says, “How about we go to the bar for a few drinks?”

Jaime raises an eyebrow as he takes in the warning gleam in Nym’s eyes.

“Sure,” he says, and wonders what shit he’s in for now.

*/*/*/*/*

They’re on their third shot of Myrish Fire, a liquor that tastes like heaven and kicks like an auroch, when Jaime says, “How did you and Brienne meet?”

Nym snickers.  “It took you longer than I thought to mention Brienne.”

Jaime smirks and shrugs.  “She’s been a pretty major part of my life these last few months...and I have the bruises to prove it!”

Nym chuckles.  “She’s very persuasive when she wants to be,” she says fondly.  She turns to look at him.  “You did a good job with Taena today.  You played her like a fiddle.”

Jaime shrugs.  “It’s only fair.  She played me like a fiddle the entire time we were together, I think.”  He shakes his head.  “It’s hard to know what’s real and what’s not after a while.”

Nym nods, then leans close, her dark eyes intent on his.  “Brienne is a hundred percent the real deal, my friend, and I will protect her at all costs.”

He raises an eyebrow.  “By having orgies in my house?”

“Hey, she wasn’t there, I was on a case, and the party got out of hand.  We got the pictures the client needed and that’s what mattered.  Not to mention we saved your ass from being arrested for murder.”

“I remember.”

“Good.  I want you to remember this, too:  if you do anything—anything at all—to deliberately hurt Brienne, I will fuck you up so hard you won’t know which way is up for six months.”  She smiles sweetly. “Deal?”

Jaime blinks owlishly then shrugs.  “Deal.”

*/*/*/*/*

“Should we go to Slaver’s Bay?” Brienne asks at breakfast the next morning.

Her two companions stare at her with blood-shot eyes and Jaime says, “I’m planning on staying here and praying for death.  I don’t care what you two decide.”

Nymeria simply lowers her head to the table and quietly groans.

“Well, we still need to talk to Bronn,” Brienne says briskly.  “Maybe I should go by myself.”

“Considering we don’t know if Bronn is even still in the vicinity of Slaver’s Bay that would be kind of time consuming,” Jaime says, and she wonders if he’s speaking so carefully because he’s being cautious or because he’s trying to think through his massive hangover.

Brienne scowls.  “Well, we still have to rule him out as a suspect and don’t you want to get your money back?”

“I want to rule him out as a suspect, but I also want to get back to King’s Landing and talk to Lady Stoneheart.  Taena’s probably already told her we were here.  I still don’t think she murdered Jazz, but just like with Bronn, we need to rule it out.”

*/*/*/*/*

In the end, they all return to Westeros and set Morgan and Karl to discovering Bronn’s whereabouts—or at least what name he’s travelling under.  In turn, the two detectives give Brienne copies of Jazz’s bank and phone records.

“Why didn’t you tell us Jazz was a Baelish Bunny?” Brienne asks.  “There isn’t even a mention of it in the notes you gave me.  And how did it stay out of the media?”

Karl shrugs.  “Her family asked us to be as discreet as possible.  Besides, given the facts of the case as we knew it, it wasn’t relevant.”

“In other words, you were suffering from tunnel vision.”

Karl’s smile is thin.  “We were going where the evidence led us.  There was no reason to believe her job as a Baelish Bunny had any connection to her death.”

Morgan says, “And as for how it stayed out of the media, well...”  He shrugs.  “They were more focused on the fact _The Jaime Lannister_ was a person of interest in a murder investigation than they were on the victim.  I mean, the story quickly disappeared from the public once Jaime was publicly ruled out as a suspect.”

*/*/*/*/*

That night, Jaime’s face is grim when Brienne tells him and the others what the two Gold Cloaks told her. 

“It isn’t fair,” Jaime mutters.

“I know,” Brienne says.

Jaime frowns, drumming his fingers on the arm of the couch.

“Maybe you need to go public,” Addam says.

“Go public?” Brienne asks with a frown.  “About what?”

Jaime says, quickly, “The fact I’ve hired you to investigate the crime.  I don’t think that’s a good idea.”  He gives them a thin smile.  “Besides, we don’t have time to talk about it now.  We need to go now and speak to a certain lady.”

*/*/*/*/*

Every table at Lady Stoneheart’s is full, and Jaime sees Beric Dondarrion is sitting at the same table he’d used the last time Jaime and Brienne were here.  And in the middle of the room, in pride of place and with a clear view of all the tables is Lady Stoneheart and Petyr Baelish.

The hostess steps in front of them with a professional smile.  “I’m sorry, we don’t allow anyone in without a reservation.”

Jaime’s smile is just as professional.  “Oh, we won’t be staying long,” he says and gently pushes past the young woman and leads Brienne to the centre table.

Catelyn Baelish’s blue eyes are like shards of ice as they come to a stop beside them.

Petyr says, “This is a surprise, Lannister.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “Mayhaps to you.”  He turns to Catelyn.  “I’m assuming Taena called to warn you we’d be coming to talk to you.”

“Taena’s a lovely girl,” Catelyn says.  “You didn’t deserve her.”

“So because I didn’t deserve her, you actively poisoned her mind against me?”

“It didn’t take much.  Taena was already suspicious.”

“And Jazz?”

Catelyn frowns.  “Jazz?”

“Jazz Peckledon.”  Brienne says, her eyes boring into Petyr Baelish.  “One of your Bunnies.”

Petyr shrugs.  “There are hundreds of Baelish Bunnies.  You honestly think I can remember every one?  Besides, they all look alike after a while.”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “Of course,” she says drily.  “Yet you didn’t recognize the name after the girl was murdered?”

“Of course I did.  I told the police immediately she was one of my Bunnies.  I’m just not certain why it’s relevant.”

Jaime hasn’t taken his eyes off Lady Stoneheart.  “It’s relevant because you, Catelyn, hired the girl to meet me in Sunspear and to keep me ‘distracted’ while Taena made her getaway with all my cash.”

Catelyn snorts.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  Why would I do that?”

“Because you blame me for something that has never been my fault.  I did not cause Lysa’s breakdown.”

“You’re a lying bastard,” she hisses.  “She loved you!”

“She barely knew me!  We fucked for two weeks and that was the end of it!  This obsessive need you have to blame somebody else for the tragedy is on you, and only you!  Only this time, an innocent girl paid the ultimate price!  You killed her, didn’t you?”

“You’re mad!”

Petyr surges to his feet.  “That’s absurd!”

Beric Dondarrion and Edric Dayne hurry over, and Jaime’s acutely aware that everyone in the restaurant is now avidly watching them.

Brienne puts a calming hand on his forearm.  “You can’t go around lobbing accusations, Jaime.  There’s no evidence that Lady Stoneheart even met Pia Peckledon.”

Jaime glares.  “Whose side are you on?”

“Jazz’s,” Brienne says promptly, and Jaime deflates.

“You’re right,” he says and turns back to the four people glaring at him.  He takes a deep breath.  “I’m sorry.”

Lady Stoneheart’s expression turns triumphant.  “Taena’s right; you really don’t have any balls.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “Because I know enough not to accuse somebody of a crime without evidence?  I only wish you were smart enough to do the same.”

“Enough,” Brienne snaps.  “Let me do the talking.”  She turns back to their audience and says, “Please.  May I sit?”  She glances round the restaurant.  “I think we’ve created enough of a spectacle, don’t you?”

Lady Stoneheart looks thoughtfully at her then says, “You can sit.  He can leave.”

Jaime glares but before he can speak, Brienne says, “That’s fine.”  She turns to him.  “Go wait in the car.  Please.”

“Brienne—”

“I can handle this.  Just go!”

He grumbles then raises his hands in surrender as Edric Dayne takes a threatening step towards him.

“Fine.  I’m going.  But you have half an hour, then I’m coming back in for you.”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “Go.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne takes a seat at Lady Stoneheart’s table while everyone is distracted with watching Jaime stomping from the restaurant, Beric Dondarrion and Edric Dayne trailing behind him.  She pulls herself closer to the table then rubs her palms against her pant legs and turns to watch Jaime’s exit from the restaurant.  Her fear finally eases when she sees neither Beric nor Edric actually leaves the restaurant.

She turns back to her reluctant hosts and gives them an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry.  He’s a bit...upset.”

Lady Stoneheart rolls her eyes.  “Am I supposed to feel sorry for him?”

“No.  But I hope you feel sorry for Jazz Peckledon.”  Beric and Edric join them and Brienne pulls her hands out from under the table and folds them in front of her as she leans closer to Lady Stoneheart.  “We know you helped Taena Merryweather steal Jaime’s money,” she says.

“If you say so.”

“I don’t say so; Taena says so.  Oh, I have no doubt it was Taena’s idea and you just jumped on the opportunity to stick it to Jaime.  None of us care about that anymore.  However, Taena also asked you to help arrange for a way to distract Jaime while she made good her escape.”

“So?”

“So—you’re the one who suggested Jazz.  In fact, you’re the one who connected the two together.  Phone records prove it.”

Lady Stoneheart’s eyes narrow.  “Again:  so?”

“So the girl ended up murdered after Jaime returned her to King’s Landing.”

“That’s unfortunate, but I have no idea what that has to do with me.”

“The fact you never came forward to the police to tell them about your part in Jazz’s meeting with Jaime is suspicious in itself.  There’s also the fact that Jazz most likely drugged Jaime to ensure he’d be out of the picture for a while.  Since there was no way of knowing when or if Jaime would discover Taena’s activities, that means Jazz was sent to Sunspear with the instructions to drug him and hide him away somewhere.  That’s kidnapping.  Unfortunately, Jaime’s also severely allergic to narcotics.  And if the person who gave Jazz her marching orders knew about Jaime’s allergy, then that’s attempted murder.”

Lady Stoneheart’s eyes are cold and unwavering.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just for my own amusement,” Petyr says, “what’s your theory?  Why are you even here?”

Brienne glances at him, then at the other two cold-faced men before returning her attention to Lady Stoneheart.  She tilts her head to one side as she wonders if there’s any human emotion at all behind the woman’s icy facade.

Brienne says, “I think you’ve been looking for an opportunity to destroy Jaime Lannister for the last ten years.  You blame him for your sister’s tragic life.  Then Taena wandered into your orbit.  She was obviously unhappy and easily manipulated and you jumped at the chance to get your revenge.  You convinced Taena Jaime was about to leave her, leaving her broke, and you helped her steal Jaime’s money and hide it in a bank in Myr.  Then you suggested using Jazz to get Jaime out of the way while Taena fled to Myr.  Only you also sent Jazz to Sunspear with some kind of drug and I suspect you knew about Jaime’s allergy.  I think you intended for Jazz to not just kidnap him, but also to kill him.  When Jaime dropped her off that night, Jazz called you to pick her up; the phone records should prove that.  You took her home and strangled her, maybe because she failed in her mission, or maybe because you realized she knew too much and could implicate you in the whole thing, especially if Jaime ever began to remember what actually happened.”

There’s dark silence as she finishes speaking.  She stares calmly at Lady Stoneheart, and then the woman begins to laugh.  She’s joined by the three men at the table.

“You’re a fool,” Lady Stoneheart says.  “I’ve done as you asked and listened to you.  Now get out.”

Brienne ducks her head and awkwardly pushes away from the table.  She turns away and Lady Stoneheart calls her name.

Brienne turns back and gives her a questioning look.

“I hope you realize I’m going to destroy your career, thanks to these ridiculous accusations.”  Lady Stoneheart’s smile is cruel.  “I hope you’ll think this was worth it when I leave you living in the gutter.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne closes the limo door with a sigh of relief and, with a grateful smile, takes the glass of wine Jaime hands her.

“Morgan called,” Jaime says.  “The bug is working perfectly.  They can hear everything.”

Brienne lifts her glass and clinks it against Jaime’s in a toast.  “Here’s hoping they have loose lips.”

*/*/*/*/*

They do.

Two days later, they watch as on television Lady Stoneheart is led away in handcuffs through a gauntlet of flashing cameras and shouted questions.

“Do you really think she strangled the girl herself?” Tyrion asks.

Brienne grimaces.  “It wouldn’t surprise me at all.  It would have been the work of a moment to drug Jazz’s food and then strangle her once she was incapacitated.”

Nymeria shakes her head.  “That’s just...cold.”

“I looked in that woman’s eyes,” Brienne says quietly.  “I think she’s dead inside.”

*/*/*/*/*

They’re caught in another media hurricane after Lady Stoneheart’s arrest although Jaime insists on doing their best to live as normally as possible.

He reluctantly helps her with her cases when she bribes him well enough, and one night as they’re all eating dinner, he invites her to attend a red carpet movie premiere.

“Why me?” she says with a frown.

“Because while I’m fond of the leading lady in this movie, I think it’s going to be a dead bore.  I know I can count on you to elbow me awake if I start to snore.”

“You can’t depend on Tyrion to do that?”

“Oh, sure, but before he wakes me, he’ll take video and post it to the web.”

“Yeah, I would,” Tyrion says, nodding.  He leans back in his chair and rubs his stomach.  “I don’t know if it’s your and Nan’s cooking, or if it’s because Jaime’s been relatively well-behaved, but I haven’t had to take any antacid for days.”

Jaime gives his brother a wickedly teasing smile.  “Is this a good time to tell you and Addam that Nymeria and I caused a bar fight in Myr?  Just got the bill for the damages today.”

“Oh, gods,” Tyrion sighs and lowers his head to the table.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne nervously readies herself for the movie premiere.  It’s the first time she’s unveiling the new look that Senelle has created for her.  She goes to Nymeria’s room and says, “What do you think?”

Nymeria whistles, low and long.  “I’m kinda sorry I love you like a sister, Brienne.  You look gorgeous!  And eminently fuckable.”

Brienne blushes even as she rolls her eyes in fond exasperation.  She takes another look at the image in the mirror:  the pale peach-coloured dress that clings and reveals curves created by a magical new bra.  The skirt is slit to mid-thigh and exposes her right leg with every step, and she’s towering in a pair of three-inch, delicate heels.

She nervously chews her bottom lip.  “Well, I can always wear flats if Jaime doesn’t like being so much shorter,” she mutters.

Nymeria snickers a little.  “Let’s go see what he says.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime’s standing at the bar in the drawing room, tall and handsome in a black tuxedo.  He turns to watch her walk in and she’s rewarded with his widening eyes that grow so heated they almost seem to scorch her flesh as he takes in her transformation.

He slowly smiles.  “I told you you had good lines.”

*/*/*/*/*

As the media frenzy quickly moves on to the next big scandal, Jaime decides the time is right to gently—or not so gently—push the boundaries of his relationship with Brienne.  While they’ve been out regularly in the weeks since Lady Stoneheart’s arrest, except for the movie premiere, they’ve only been out because of a case. 

Jaime’s pleased Brienne is getting more comfortable using the skills Senelle taught her and she looks gorgeous when she does, but he does prefer her like this, he thinks as he hands her a coffee and settles on the couch across from hers.  She’s in sloppy jeans and a t-shirt with her bare feet tucked up beneath her.  She looks fresh-faced, her wide eyes more beautiful than ever, and she looks far too honest to be working as a private investigator.

“I’m working on my first new album and tour in five years,” he says, continuing the conversation they started at dinner.  “I don’t know if I’m excited or terrified.”

“Why terrified?”

“After a while, nobody wants to hear anything new.  They just want the memories.”

“And if it fails?” she asks.

He shrugs.  “It fails.  And if the muses allow it, I’ll try again.”  He gives her a half-smile.  “I hear the movie is coming together really well.”

“That’s great!  When is it going to be released?”

“In about two months.”

Her jaw drops.  “That soon?”

“Well, it’s not a big budget movie.  I think the soundtrack is just Pod, humming.  Anyway, he called to say he’s managed to arrange for a limited release in the theatres—about a hundred screens or so—and then it’ll go straight to video.  One of the screens is here, if you’d like to go.”

Brienne grins.  “Of course I’d like to go!”

“Good.  I don’t think I’ll be able to watch myself on screen without some moral support.  And booze.”

She rolls her eyes and chuckles.

_Now or never_ , Jaime decides and leans forward, his famous smirk firmly in place.

“Listen, Brienne…how about we go out to dinner tomorrow night?” he says.  “There’s that new restaurant that just opened up in Old King’s Landing.  Northern cuisine.”

She gives him a puzzled look.  “Dinner?”  She frowns.  “We don’t have a case.”

“I’m asking you out to dinner,” he says slowly, as if speaking to a particularly stubborn child.  “This has nothing to do with a case.”

Her eyes narrow.  “If there’s no case, why do you want to go for dinner?”

His smirk widens into a grin.  “It’s a date, Brienne!  I’m asking you on a _date_!  You know—dinner.  Dancing.  Making out in the back seat of the limo on the way home—”

She flushes and surges to her feet.  “Stop mocking me,” she snaps.  “I thought we were friends!”  She turns and stomps from the room.

Jaime winces as the door slams on Brienne’s broad back then he leans back on the couch with a sigh.

This is going to be more difficult than he thought.

*/*/*/*/*

He calls in a favor and a few days later, Brienne is in the back seat of his limo in a little black dress that leaves her mile-long legs exposed to mid-thigh.  It both amuses and arouses him to watch her tug futilely at the skirt.

“ _This_ dress, Jaime?” she grumbles.  “Seriously?  How am I supposed to get out of the limo without flashing the entire world?”

He perks up.  “Did you go commando, Brienne?” he asks hopefully.

She flushes and glares. “Of course not, you idiot!” she snarls and he gives her a pout that earns him a smack on his shoulder.  “Idiot,” she growls but there’s a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“I can ask Lewys to stop in a discreet location,” he says, “and I will gladly watch you practice exiting the limo and let you know if you’re flashing anyone.”

“Please don’t make me punch you,” she sighs.  “We need your handsome face to be recognizable when we get to the restaurant.”

He grins and leans close.  “You think I’m handsome?” he purrs in her ear.

Her flush deepens and then she looks at him, those gorgeous blue eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion.

“What is wrong with you?” she growls.  “We’re on a stakeout, remember?”

“I remember,” he says, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves, right?”

Her eyes narrow even more.  “So long as we don’t forget we’re _working_ , Jaime.”

He lets his eyes travel from her face down her long, toned torso to her even longer, even more toned legs then back to her face.

“I won’t forget,” he says and smirks at her red face and thinks he can hear her teeth grinding.  Lewys brings the car to a gentle stop.  “We’re here,” he says, and just as he planned, the car is surrounded by a horde of varysazzi, snapping pictures as if their lives depend on it.  Who knows, he thinks as he slides from the car then positions himself so Brienne can exit with a modicum of modesty, maybe their lives _do_ depend on it.

*/*/*/*/*

Over the next several weeks, Jaime uses every imaginative bone in his body to convince Brienne to go out with him when they’re not working on a case together.  Coupled with intimate evenings at home when he can manage to get her alone without Nym or Nan or Tyrion or Addam around, he thinks he may finally be making progress.

Brienne’s glares aren’t quite as suspicious when he invites her out and there’s no case.  Of course, he continues to be her partner when she does have a case and she needs someone to help her get into a location or to watch her back, and if the bribe she offers is sufficiently chocolaty enough.

Then a few days before the release of his movie, he invites Brienne out to dinner and asks her to wear his favourite little black dress that shows off her endless legs.

She frowns.  “What’s the occasion?” she asks.

“Besides the fact we have the house to ourselves for a few days?”

And they do:  Nan has gone North to visit family while Nymeria has gone to Braavos to follow a new lead on Bronn’s whereabouts.  Jaime half-wonders if Nym will come back or if she’ll do to Bronn what Bronn did to Taena.  The thought amuses him probably more than it should.

“Yes,” Brienne says, bringing him back to the present, “besides the fact we have the house to ourselves.”

“It’s a celebration,” he says.  “We finished the last track of my new album today.”

Brienne’s face lights up with a grin.  “That’s wonderful!”

“Plus the movie comes out the day after tomorrow.  This may be the last time I’ll be able to show my face in public.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne wonders why she keeps torturing herself like this.  She’s an idiot, she thinks as they leisurely finish their after-dinner coffees and finally decide it’s time to head home.  Jaime’s hands are warm as he smooths her shawl over her shoulders and she tries not shiver at his touch.

She’s a _bloody_ idiot.  Ever since he teased her— _cruelly_ teased her—about going on a date, she’s been dying a slow death from a thousand cuts.  It doesn’t help that Jaime’s a compulsive flirt but sometimes...sometimes she wonders if there’s something more behind his teasing.

More and more often, she’s begun to wonder what Jaime would do if she were to take one of his teasing comments seriously.  Most of the time she knows he would simply run as quickly as he could from her life but sometimes...sometimes...sometimes what she imagines makes her body burn and ache with yearning.  She thrums a little with desire just thinking about it.

She quickly shakes her thoughts away as they get into the limo.  Jaime tells Lewys to take them home then raises the privacy shield between them and their driver.

Jaime turns to consider her and raises an eyebrow as he looks at her.  She wonders if he can read her thoughts on her face and she blushes.

“The meal was delicious,” she blurts out.  “Thank you.”

“Glad you enjoyed it,” he says cheerfully and she catches her breath as he shifts a little closer to her.  She feels like her self-control tonight is hanging on by a thin thread that’s growing ever thinner.  The fact there’s no one else at the house hasn’t been helping the last few days, and Jaime seems to revel in strolling round the house in snug jeans and t-shirts that cling to his well-defined chest and _gods_ —

“I told you this was a night out to celebrate the completion of my new album, which is going to be released under my own label,” Jaime says, startling her out of her thoughts.

She frowns.  “Yes?”

“Well…I haven’t told you everything.”

Brienne feels a sudden stab of anxiety and her eyes widen.

“Oh?”

“The album is titled _Pretty Pia_ , and a hundred percent of the profits are going to the Jeyne Poole Foundation, in the name of Pia ‘Jazz’ Peckledon.  The Foundation is an activist organization whose mission is to advocate for justice for those victims of crime who get lost or overlooked by the justice system and the media.  Justice for all, right?  Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be striving for?  Hopefully the album will sell enough to keep them operating for a few more years.”

He gives her a grin after he finishes speaking, and but beneath his smug exterior Brienne sees a rather anxious look in his eyes and she realizes he’s hoping for her approval.  There’s something ridiculously attractive and oddly sweet about it all, and the fact he wants her approval causes something to snap inside her and she suddenly doesn’t care if she’s going to make an idiot of herself—

—she launches herself at him.

He’s not expecting it and he falls back beneath her weight, banging his head against the limo’s door.  The sudden movement makes them tumble from the seat into a heap on the floor.

“Oh, gods,” she says as she sprawls awkwardly on top of him.  “Oh gods,” she says again as he winces and puts a hand to the back of his head.

“Oh, gods,” she says for a third time and if she wasn’t dying from embarrassment, she’d literally burst into tears because _godsdamnit_ , she didn’t even manage to get a single good kiss out of the deal.

She starts to scramble away, to get back to her seat, thinking wildly she’ll tell him the car swerved and she just...fell..onto his lips...and gods, she hopes she can find a hole she can crawl into and never come out—

—and his arms are wrapped round her and one of his hands seems to be firmly gripping her ass, holding her still against him.

“Were you trying to kiss me?” he says and she blushes so fiercely she knows her face must be glowing in the dim interior of the limo as they glide past the streetlights.  She bites her lip and she looks away as she gives a quick nod.

His hand tightens on her ass as his other hand goes to the nape of her neck to pull her down to him, and then he’s kissing her and this time, there’s no mistaking it.

*/*/*/*/*

Her pantyhose is in tatters, her undies tossed aside, and his fingers are doing... _things_...wonderful, marvelous _things_ …to the sensitive flesh between her legs that have her seeing sparks behind her closed eyelids when Jaime suddenly stops, lifts his mouth from her neck and looks round, blinking puzzled eyes.

She frowns as she bucks her hips against his hand, trying to coax him to return to doing what he was doing.

“I think the car’s stopped,” Jaime says, although he rewards her with a slick slide of his thumb against the sensitive bud hidden between her legs.

Her eyes slam shut at the sensation, a low moan drawn from her throat as she bucks against him again—and then she understands his words.

Her eyes fly open.  “Stopped?”

He nods and he’s looking at her with a smugly pained smirk.

He slides his thumb against her again and says, “Here?  Or in the house?”

It takes a moment to understand what he’s asking.  She’s tempted to tell him here, in the limo, but the fact there’s somebody on the other side of the partition who most likely knows _exactly_ what they’re doing back here is what decides her.

“The house,” she rasps out then whines—literally _whines_ —as Jaime slowly, reluctantly removes his hands from her body.

“Gods,” he groans, “hold that thought.”

*/*/*/*/*

They scramble to find the pieces of clothing they’d torn off each other and Brienne only then realizes Jaime’s shirt no longer has any buttons.  Her pantyhose and undies are ruined beyond repair, and she wraps what remnants she can find into her shawl.  Jaime pulls on his jacket, she shoves her feet back into her pumps, and he gives her a dark-eyed, burning look.

“You better have the keys ready,” he growls, “otherwise I’m going to end up fucking you on the front step.”

For a moment, Brienne seriously considers the idea then digs for her keys.

“Maybe next time,” she says and bolts from the car.

*/*/*/*/*

They leave a trail of clothes—or pieces of them—from the front door up the stairs to Brienne’s bedroom, where they fall, naked, on to her bed.

There’s a momentary pause when they have the horrified realization that they left any condoms they might have been carrying somewhere on the path to the bedroom.

Brienne stares up at him, panting, and seriously wondering if she’ll survive the time it would take them to find Jaime’s pants.

“Nym probably has some,” she says.

“Do _you_ want to risk searching her bedside drawers?”

They share another horrified stare then Jaime says, “I should hopefully have some in my bedroom.”

“That’s so far away!”

“Six doors,” he says.  “Can you make it?”

“Gods, I hope so,” she says.

*/*/*/*/*

They survive the journey to Jaime’s bedroom—but it’s a close call.

He finds a box of condoms with a triumphant shout and Brienne says, “Thank the gods,” and tackles him to the bed.

*/*/*/*/*

Later, her body boneless and sated, Brienne watches Jaime sleep and thinks she’s never orgasmed so easily before—or so strongly—and she’s never going to have sex that good ever again.

One night stands are just that, she thinks wistfully, then pushes the sadness away.

No regrets, she firmly tells herself as she closes her eyes and drifts towards sleep.  No regrets and no expectations.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime takes one look at her face the next morning as he walks into the drawing room and raises an eyebrow.  “Coffee ready?” he says.

She nods, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, wringing her hands.

“Are you regretting last night?” Jaime asks with bright interest as he strolls to the bar.

“No, no—it was…great.  As you know.  But I just…you don’t have to—to give me the ‘don’t call me, I’ll call you’ speech.  I know I’m not the woman for you, Jaime,” Brienne blurts.

“No?” he says.  His voice is light and amused and she scowls that he doesn’t even seem to care.

It makes her angry even as it proves she’s right to stop this insanity before it goes any further...even if her libido is begging her for just one more night in his bed.  She’s probably never going to get laid ever again, let alone laid _that_ well, and the thought almost makes her cry.

She realizes Jaime has said something and she snaps back to the present.

He’s grinning at her.  “I asked if you’d like something stronger to drink than coffee.”

She flushes.  “No,” she snaps.  “I’m trying to tell you that what happened last night—”

He laughs.  “‘What happened’?  You mean some of the most mind-blowing sex it’s ever been my pleasure to experience?”

She shivers at the husky way he says pleasure and then she shakes her head, clearing it.

“Last night was a mistake, and you know it,” she snaps.

“It most definitely was not a mistake,” he purrs, “but tell me why you’re insisting it is?”

“Because I don’t have one night stands, Jaime!” she snaps, throwing up her arms and pacing the floor.  “I’m not one of your groupies!  I don’t want to just have sex for the sake of sex, and that’s all you can offer me!”

He sips his coffee, his green eyes alight with laughter even as he watches her intently.

“I haven’t offered you anything yet,” he says.

She flushes.  “That’s my point,” she mutters.

“Well, your point is a bit flawed.  I would have preferred to have this conversation a few weeks from now, once you get more used to dating in the public eye, but you seem fundamentally unable to simply enjoy yourself, so I suppose we may as well have this conversation now.”

She’s scowling, confused.  “ _More_ used to dating in the pub—we’re not _dating_ , Jaime!”

He sighs.  “Of course we are, you sweet summer child!  You just haven’t noticed!”

“We’ve been working!”

He rolls his eyes.  “ _You’ve_ been working; _I’ve_ been dating!  And if you paid more attention to social media and the trashy gossip sites, you’d know that as far as the public is concerned, you’ve been my girlfriend for months!”

She gapes at him.  “That’s absurd!”

He shrugs.  “But true, nonetheless.”

“I’m not—you’re—this is some sick joke, isn’t it?  You’re just making fun of me!”

He puts down his coffee cup and steps out from behind the bar.  “I am making fun of you,” he says agreeable, “because you’re as amusing as you are charming.”

She’s mesmerized as he strolls to her and puts his hands on her shoulders.

His smile is self-deprecating.  “I realize I’m not the easiest man in the world to be in a relationship with, but I’d hoped we’d at least make it to the point where you realized we were dating before you broke up with me.”

Brienne feels faint, her mind racing as she remembers the last few weeks.  All those dinners, and movie premieres, and shopping trips, and that trip to the park—the museum—the nightclubs—

“Oh my gods,” she breathes and sinks on to the couch.

“Ah,” he says happily and perches beside her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did tell you!  I even asked you out on a date, remember?  You wouldn’t believe me.”

She barely hears him as she slowly shakes her head.  “But why?” she finally whispers.

“Because you’re amazing,” he says simply, “and I’ve been fascinated by those legs forever.  You’re a good influence on me, you make me want to be a better man, even if I would prefer it if you would stop getting me punched every other day.  Still.  What’s not to love?”

She blinks and flushes.

“Oh, I don’t expect you to believe me,” he says, “and I don’t expect you to love me, too.  I just want a chance to show you that I’m good for you, too, just like you’re good for me.”

“Jaime...” She doesn’t even sound like herself, her voice weak and breathy, like she’s some delicate flower of a woman instead of the woman she is.

“So, how about it, Brienne?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.  “Would you like to go out on a date with me?  There’s a movie’s opening night tomorrow that you might like.  I understand the leading man is quite talented.”

That makes her snort a little and roll her eyes.  “And modest, too,” she says drily.

He shrugs and smirks.  “How about it?”

She stares, then she flushes as she slowly smiles.  “All right,” she says faintly.

She’s rewarded with a quick kiss, that’s followed by a longer, more thorough kiss, that’s followed by an almost desperate make-out session, that leads to her finding herself naked as her name-day, astride Jaime on the couch, riding him towards an orgasm that turns out to be even better than the one she experienced the night before.

As they lie together on the couch, the sweat cooling on their skin, Brienne’s body still humming with satisfaction as she revels in Jaime’s fingers stroking her shoulder and back, Jaime chuckles.

“I told you I’d be good for you,” he murmurs.

She snickers.  “And you are,” she says and closes her eyes.

*/*/*/*/*


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   Canon-compliant coarse language.  Lots of swearing in this one.  The word rape?  This is a dark universe; grim things happen or are talked about.  Please read responsibly.
> 
>  **A/N:**   Yes, I’m splitting this universe into at least two chapters.  I’m at almost 8,000 words and only about 2/3 finished…I think…*grabs bottle of rum*

 

***/*/*/*/***

“I don’t need a cold shower,” Jaime says as he rips off his skull cap and bolts for the door, “I need a fucking bag of ice shoved down my pants!”

Brienne doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry as she slowly lowers her head to the desk.  She settles for a long, low, frustrated groan instead before she, too, removes her skull cap and heads for her own desperately needed cold shower.

*/*/*/*/*

“You know the saddest part?” Jaime says once they’re back in the control room, powering down the Wall for what’s left of the night.

Brienne frowns and shakes her head.

“I have way too much to live up to,” he grumbles.

“What?”

“Think about it!  Megastar Jaime is, well, a megastar and regularly faces danger with and for PI Brienne.  Singer Jaime helped Farmer Brienne find the fortune her father made for her, and Prisoner Jaime proposed to Septa Brienne while _literally_ _dressed in shining armor_!  I mean...anything I can think of to impress a girl in our universe is going to pale in comparison.”

Brienne quickly looks away and busies herself with checking the status of the data downloading to her laptop.  “Well,” she says with a determined smile, “you could just take credit and not tell the girl where you got the idea.”

Jaime opens his mouth then closes it again.  “Right,” he mutters, and turns back to his laptop.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne knows she’s hurt Jaime with her refusal to admit there’s a possibility that something might be happening between them here, in their universe. 

She _wants_ to admit it.  She wants to trust in him the same way Septa Brienne trusted Prisoner Jaime.  She wants to be brave enough to take a chance, the same way Farmer Brienne was brave enough to take a chance with Singer Jaime.  She wants to be strong enough to reach for what she wants and consequences bedamned, like PI Brienne.

But none of those Briennes are _her_ , and she can’t be sure that whatever Jaime might be feeling or thinking here, in this universe, it isn’t simply a mix of echoes from the others.

She looks at Jaime from the corners of her eyes as he drives them back to Castle Black.  Much too handsome for her, she thinks, and it’s only been a few months since his split with Taena...and he’s split from Taena several times since she’s known him, and he always ends up taking her back.

She closes her eyes against the onslaught of memories-not-her-own and turns her head to look out the car’s window at the dark night.

She’s not as brave as they are, she thinks, deflated.  She just can’t take the chance and hope it’s going to be all right.  She’d rather have Jaime in her life—somehow—rather than lose him when the echoes of the other universes fade away.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime closes the door with a sigh as Brienne takes a sleepy Pod back to her room.  It’s late, and Jaime’s exhausted, but he can’t help but ponder the Brienne Question as he gets ready for bed.

At least he doesn’t need a shower, he thinks ruefully as he strips down and slips beneath the blankets.  Cold showers are all well and good, but he can think of much better ways to ease the sexual frustration he knows they’re both feeling when they return from the other universes…which isn’t the only reason there even _is_ a Brienne Question to be pondered, of course…but still.

He drifts towards sleep, wrapped in pleasant fantasies mixed with the memories of the other Jaimes.  Megastar Jaime has certainly had more variety in his experiences than the rest of the other Jaimes combined, although Prisoner Jaime’s wedding night had been just as intense as any of the other Jaimes’ experiences with their Briennes.

His eyes fly open and he frowns up into the dark.

Mayhaps that’s what’s holding his Brienne back.  Mayhaps he’s not the only one with a lot to live up to.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime’s still pondering the question when Brienne arrives for a late lunch in his penthouse suite, where he slyly feeds Pod a snack or two from his plate.  Brienne glares and scolds him when she catches him, but he just gives her his best innocent look while sneaking another morsel of chicken to the ratty little mutt.

Brienne heaves a long-suffering sigh and Jaime laughs—and is suddenly struck by the realization that _this_ is just _theirs.  This:_ the ratty little mutt and brunch and this moment.

He slowly smiles and her eyes widen then darken as she flushes while she holds his gaze.

His grin widens.

He does believe he has an inkling of what’s sometimes known as a ‘plan’.

*/*/*/*/*

“Which universe?” he asks as she drives them back to the Wall.

She groans.  “Both are bad,” she mutters.

“True.  Do you want to drop them from the experiment?”

She frowns, considering, then shakes her head.  “No.  We’ve gone this far.  Besides, this will be the last set of experiments for a long time and maybe by the time we finally get back to the Wall, we’ll be searching for different universes for our next set of experiments.”

“Mayhaps.”  Jaime glances at her with that teasing glint in his eyes that’s been there ever since lunch.  “Do you have a preference for which universe we go to next?”

She shakes her head.  “Do you?”

“Gods, no!”  He frowns then says, “All right,” and digs into his pocket.  He pulls out a dragon and says, “Heads, it’s the Mad Jon universe; tails it’s the Prince and Princess.”

She rolls her eyes and nods.

He flips the coin into the air, catches it and smacks it against the back of his hand.  He looks at the coin and says.  “Heads.”

She grimaces.  “Mad Jon it is,” she mutters.

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime pulls his chair a little closer to Brienne’s and puts his hand over hers.  She startles but doesn’t draw away._

_He leans closer, searching her eyes that seem even larger and more beautiful when she’s wearing that ridiculous, studded skull cap.  He can see she’s tense and wary._

_“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks._

_She blinks and says, “No.  But we’re scientists, Jaime.  Let’s do this anyway.”_

_He smiles, gives her hand a comforting squeeze, and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne’s relaxed, sated, the sun warm on her bare skin.  But it’s not nearly as warm as the weight of Jaime’s arm and leg flung over her, holding her close.  He’s dozing, his breath ghosting against her neck and shoulder, and she fiercely tells herself to remember every touch, every sensation, to burn this moment into her memory.  She closes her eyes and drifts and it almost feels as if the broken world away from this pond doesn’t exist.

She allowed herself to dream in the dark privacy of her little shack and reality has surpassed all her dreams...in some respects.  He’s beautiful and very...she bites her lip to keep from laughing... _enthusiastic_.  There are faint shadows on her hips left by his hands; darker shadows left by his lips on her neck and breasts.  What her dreams flitted over, though, are the marks he will leave on her heart.  It’s those marks that worry her most.

When he leaves her...and he _will_ leave her...

She remembers Hyle, taking money from that crowd of boys standing round his bed.  Remembers the humiliation, the black pit of despair she descended into, and her determination to _not let them win_ that was all she could use to crawl back out again.

She pushes those memories away.  It was a long time ago in experience even if not in time.  The world has forever changed and there are, surprisingly enough, worse things.  She hopes they can convince Hyle and his friends to return to Martell Town with the Sand sisters, and as for Jaime...

She presses her lips tightly together.

Mayhaps she can convince him to stay...but he has three children who take priority.  If he decides they would be safer in Martell Town...well...she can’t beg him to stay.  The safety and well-being of the children are the priority for all of them.

Jaime stirs, smoothing his hand over her torso and down to her hip.  She closes her eyes at the sensation.

“I can hear you thinking,” he murmurs in her ear and she opens her eyes at that, craning her neck to glare at him.

“I’m relaxing,” she says.

“Your muscles are tight, and I don’t think you’ve managed to nap at all, have you?”  He lifts his head and grins as he continues caressing the length of her body with long, slow strokes.

She blinks.  “You were sleeping, Jaime,” she says, flushing a little as she softens beneath his touch.  “How would you know?”

“I’ve learned the art of dozing without sleeping,” he says with a wink and leans in to kiss her.

She relaxes against him, thinking they need to dress and return to the others; her heart will break even more when he leaves if they do this again; she shouldn’t be distracted like this, even if it’s only for a few hours, because the world is too dangerous to let their guards down for long; they may not make it through another winter, and saving the children really should be her only focus.

Jaime pulls her flush against him, and his hands are warm and searching, his kisses deep and hungry.  She meets his hunger with her own, and thinks she can be forgiven for wanting this, for wanting to seize whatever moments of happiness she can find, no matter how fleeting.  The world is ended, she thinks as his caressing hands turn more demanding, making her gasp and arch against him, and if there’s no happiness to be found, then why bother surviving at all?

*/*/*/*

Hyle takes one look at them when they return and his expression turns thunderously contemptuous.  He turns to Jaime and sneers, “So, stole my idea, did you?”

Jaime frowns but before he can speak, Brienne says, “What idea?”

Hyle says, his eyes hard as flint, “Didn’t he tell you?  Martell Town won’t let him in.  Nobody wants the Kingslayer.”

Brienne’s eyes are narrowed.  “What does that have to do with ‘your idea’?  What’s ‘your idea’?”

Hyle laughs, harsh and angry.  “Why, to fuck you in order to control you, of course.  And you’re just stupid enough to fall for it!  Have you forgotten he’s the Kingslayer?  You think he’s not going to kill you once he no longer needs you?”

Brienne gapes and Jaime sees red.  He takes a step towards Hyle, his teeth bared in a snarl then stops in his tracks as Brienne begins to laugh.

Jaime turns to stare at her, shocked that after everything that’s happened in the years since the Event, this is what finally breaks her.

She’s laughing so hard tears are actually rolling down her cheeks.  She pauses, looks with disbelieving eyes at Hunt and then goes off once again into gales of laughter.  Her arms are wrapped round her stomach as she doubles over.

Everyone else in the clearing—those children not on patrol, the Sand sisters, and Hunt’s friends—hurry towards them and Jaime doesn’t know if he should punch the equally confused look off Hunt’s face or if he should throw his arms round Brienne and tell her she’s going to be all right.

Finally, Brienne pauses, gasping for breath and again looks up at Hunt, her eyes swimming in tears of laughter.

“ _That_ was your idea?” she finally manages to say.  “You thought all you had to do was fuck me in order to control me?  _You?_ ”  She starts giggling again and clamps a hand over her mouth, struggling to get herself under control.  “Oh, gods—you really _did_ think you were flirting with me, didn’t you?”  And she’s laughing uncontrollably again.

“Brienne?” Jaime says, treading carefully.  For a moment, he has a sudden, harsh memory of Cersei, the way she was that night he came home to find her putting antifreeze in the children’s food.  She’d been laughing then, too, before she started screaming.

He peers intently at Brienne.

No, he thinks, there’s none of the blank emptiness he’d seen in Cersei’s eyes that night.  Brienne just seems…genuinely amused...and that’s even more confusing.

Brienne finally gets herself under control and she straightens, swiping the moisture from her eyes.

“Hyle,” she says, almost kindly, “you are so fucking stupid, I’m tempted to geld you just to ensure you can’t pass the stupidity on to unsuspecting children.”

Hyle sputters and Brienne shakes her head and holds up her hand.

“You _humiliated_ me,” she says, and now her voice is cold even if she still has a smile on her face.  “You and your buddies.  You treated me like a joke, as something to be used and broken for your own amusement, then tossed away like garbage.”

Jaime draws in a loud, hissing breath and his hand drops to his gun.  Brienne glances at him.

“Oh, it wasn’t rape, Jaime—it was a frat boy bet about which one could ‘seduce’ me into letting them...how did you and the guys put it that night while they were handing you cash?  Ah, yes:  ‘pop my cherry’.”

Jaime’s mind whirls.  “Handing him cash?”

Brienne waves his words away.  “I’ll tell you about it later.”  She turns back to Hyle and his friends.  “The only reason any of you are still alive is because there’s been more than enough death already, and if the human race is going to survive, we need to stop killing each other.  But just because I’ve allowed you to stay here doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten—or forgiven—what all of you did.”

Hyle sneers.  “You’re only turning on us because the Kingslayer fucked you.  He only did it so you would allow him to stay here.  Nobody else is stupid enough to have him, no matter how much he fucks them.”  Hyle’s glance goes to Tyene Sand then back to Brienne, his sneer deepening.

Brienne raises an eyebrow.  “That’s not why he fucked me.”

The tightness in Jaime’s chest eases a little.

“You didn’t know I’d fucked you for money,” Hyle says.

“Well, that makes you a whore, Hyle, but as for Jaime, well, he already knew he was welcome here, if he chose to stay.  Just as you were, just as all the children are.  Even our guests from Martell Town are welcome to join us, if they wish.”  She glances at Tyene then at Jaime then returns her attention to Hyle. 

“Really?” Jaime says.  “You still think...?”  He sighs and rolls his eyes.

She flashes a scowl at him then returns her attention to Hyle.  “I’m no longer that girl you knew several lifetimes ago.”  She smiles a little.  “Even then I wasn’t so easily controlled, no matter what you and your fellow frat boys thought.”  She cocks her head to the side and thoughtfully considers him and his friends.

“You honestly believed it, didn’t you?” she says, and her lips begin to twitch again and she presses them tightly together.  She clears her throat and says, “You honestly believed I would be, what?  Desperate enough to _settle_ for you?  You’re not actually the last man on earth, and even if you were, I wouldn’t take you.”  She shakes her head.  “I think it’s best if you and your friends return to Martell Town when my visitors are ready to leave.”  She glances at the Sand sisters, who are watching her with varying degrees of respect and surprise.  “If they’ll have you, that is.”

*/*/*/*/*

It’s surprisingly difficult to get Brienne alone the next few days.  Or maybe it’s not surprising, Jaime thinks ruefully.  Brienne has barely even looked at him since her confrontation with Hunt and his buddies.

Well, at least Tyene appears to have given up her dogged pursuit, so that’s something.

Not that Jaime, too, isn’t busy.  He patrols the perimeter, teaches the children survival skills, spends time with his own children, and thinks about Brienne.

He knows others in the settlement don’t understand it.  He’s not certain he understands it either.  Brienne is not what one would consider beautiful.  Her face is scarred, her breasts are small, she’s taller than he is and he’s six-two, and she could probably break him in half if she so desired.  She’s as different to Cersei—beautiful, fragile, volatile Cersei—as it is possible to be...and mayhaps that’s part of what draws him to Brienne.

When he looks in Brienne’s eyes, he sees nothing but honesty beneath her wariness and rage.  When he talks to her, he hears the strength that underpins her beliefs and her desire to protect the children.  This hell they’ve fallen into may have scarred her, but it hasn’t broken her, and that makes him want to protect her all the more because of it.

Mayhaps he doesn’t need to understand what draws him to her, or why.  Mayhaps he just needs to accept what _is_.

He sits by the communal fire pit and watches her with brooding eyes as she again demonstrates to the younger children how to tie a snare and inspects their efforts.  The sun is shining on her straw-coloured hair, making it gleam in the sun.

And he desperately wants to fuck her—or at least hold her—again, although that should really go without saying.  At least to her.

He glances at Hunt sitting on the opposite side of the fire pit and Jaime can’t help smirking at the sight of the other man’s bruised and swollen face.  Hunt and his friends have been approaching him the last few days, separately and together, trying to get him to admit he’s only interested in Brienne because he wants control of the settlement and the children.  After all, he once murdered a King in a failed attempt to gain the Throne.

He just sneered and walked away from each encounter...except one.  Hyle Hunt made the mistake of daring to ask if Jaime had closed his eyes and dreamed of another woman while fucking Brienne, like Hunt had done.  Jaime’s fist broke the bastard’s nose with a satisfying crunch.

Hunt and his cronies can’t leave soon enough, as far as Jaime is concerned.

Jaime watches as Brienne smiles at the children then strides away to her shack.  He stands without sparing a glance for his companions and hurries after her.

Mayhaps he can convince her to at least talk to him; to at least tell him if she believes Hunt’s accusations or not.

He knocks.

There’s a moment of silence and then Brienne opens the door.

She looks at him in silence, her face expressionless, her beautiful eyes wary.

“Martell Town really won’t let me in,” he says, “but that has nothing to do with what happened at the pond.”

She blinks and Jaime wonders what she’d say if he told her all he wants is to stay here, with her, and drown in her eyes.

He says, “I’m not going to dignify Hunt’s accusations with a denial, but if you want me to go, I’ll go.  I won’t go far because I have to be near my children, but I can live outside the settlement if that’s what you want.”

She frowns as she tilts her head to one side.  “Why would I want that?”

He scowls.  “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Well, I was embarrassed that everyone knew what we’d been doing just from looking at us.”

Jaime raises his eyebrow.  “Really.  That’s it?”

She flushes.  “Well…” she looks down and shifts uncomfortably.  “I’ve started my period,” she mutters.

Jaime frowns.  “And?”

Her blush deepens. “And…well…you know…”

Jaime’s frown deepens.  “Do you think this is just about sex?”

She flashes a quick glance at his face before she looks away again.

“You do,” he says, his frown clearing.

“Well, what else is there?” she mutters.

Jaime bites his lip to keep from laughing.  “Well, sex is definitely important,” he says, his voice so solemn she finally looks at him long enough to give him a suspicious glare.  “It’s been a long time for me,” he says with a shrug.  “But I didn’t fuck you _just_ because I wanted to fuck you...although I really, really did want to, just in case you didn’t notice.  But this...what’s happening between us...this is also fueled by your bravery and strength and determination and optimism and the way you’ve done everything you can to protect the children in your care and the way you don’t take any shit from anybody and a million other things there’s not enough time in the world to describe and they all make me want to fuck you again until you scream my name.”

Her head jerks up at that, her eyes widening and darkening.  She quickly cranes to look round him.

“Jaime!  You never know who might be listening!”

Jaime shrugs and leans a little closer.  “Let them listen.  We’ll tell the younger kids I’m tickling you unmercifully.”

She blinks at him then a reluctant smile curves her lips.

He smiles as some of his tension eases.  “Did you believe what Hunt said?”

She snorts a little at that.  “I don’t believe anything Hyle says,” she says drily.  “Like I told him, you didn’t have to fuck me to stay here and we both knew that before that day at the pond.”

“So why have you been avoiding me?”

She shrugs.  “Tyene is beautiful.”

“Yes, she is,” he says, “but she isn’t you.”

“There’s nothing special about me.”

“Let me decide that, okay?”

She scowls.

He leans closer and murmurs, his voice low and dark, “Let me in and I’ll show you just how special you are.”

She licks her lips and he almost groans.  “I—I—like I said, I’m on my period.”

Jaime reaches out and cups her cheek.  “I’m not talking about sex,” he says, “although I’m not averse to a hot make-out session, if you’d like.”  He smiles.  “Do you have bad periods?  Do you need a back rub or something?”

She gapes at him.  “A back rub?”

He shrugs.  “Cersei used to get really bad cramps.  A back rub seemed to help.”

“I...I’ve never had a back rub,” Brienne says with dawning interest.

“Then let me in.”

She slowly smiles and steps aside.

*/*/*/*/*

A few days later the Sand sisters leave, taking Hyle, his cronies and Margaery Tyrell with them.  Brienne isn’t surprised; Margaery’s smitten with Mark Mullendore and even though they tried to convince her to stay, she’s determined to stay with the man she claims to love.

Life is a little more difficult now that Margaery and the others have left them, with only five sixteen-year-olds and two adults left to protect the others.  Still, it’s peaceful enough and even...Brienne barely dares to think the word:  _happy_.

*/*/*/*/*

Late spring turns to a summer filled with long, hot, dry days and Brienne’s grateful they settled so close to the river.  They finally finish the waterwheel and she and Gendry, Robb and Ygritte go to King’s Landing to scavenge pipes and eaves troughs.  When they return, Gendry, Edric and Mya cobble together a makeshift irrigation system so they can water their far-too-meagre crops even as day after day passes without rain.  The days are endless as the heat and the sun dry out the trees that surround them.

Brienne and Jaime drill into the children the need to be careful with their communal fire, the need to watch for sparks and to ensure any fire is banked or completely out before going to their shacks for the night.  Jon Snow and Jeyne Westerling work with the younger children to build rafts that they keep ready on the river bank while Jaime trains all of them—even Rickon and Tommen—on evacuation procedures.

“At least the river’s relatively calm from here to the Bay,” Jaime mutters one afternoon as he’s out hunting with Brienne.

She nods.  “Still deep in parts.”  She shakes her head and sighs.  “It rained more last year.”

Jaime smirks at her.  “You can’t control everything, Brienne.  And you and the children have made enormous progress in just two years.  More than some others have done.”  He grimaces then shakes his head.  “You’ve built shelters, established and maintained a protective perimeter.  You’re growing, gathering and storing food for the winter.  You have water, and you’re close enough to what’s left of a city to scavenge what you need when you need it.”

“But it’s not going to be enough, is it?  We’re not going to be able to stay here, are we?”

Jaime hesitates.  “We can,” he says and shrugs.  “I just don’t like not having a line of sight.”

“Nobody can find us unless we show them where we are.”

“That’s not quite true anymore.  Hyle Hunt and his cronies have no reason to protect us anymore.  Martell Town is friendly enough at the moment...but what if they run low on resources and they know we have them?  What then?”

He looks round at the trees and underbrush.  “We’re hidden; but so is anyone who comes looking for us.”

“So what are you suggesting?” she growls.

Jaime sighs and rubs his temple.  “I want someplace high, so we have a line of sight in all directions.  Someplace we can fortify with food and water, weapons and ammunition.  Someplace where we can withstand a siege, if needed.”

Brienne stops and turns to stare at him.  “You want a castle,” she says flatly.

He quirks a smile.  “I want a castle.”

*/*/*/*/*

_The control room comes back into focus and Brienne turns to Jaime with a scowl._

_“How the fuck are they going to hold a castle with two adults and nineteen children?” she snarls._

_Jaime lifts his hands in mock surrender.  “Don’t ask me, Brienne!  Ask Mad Jon Jaime!”_

_“You have his memories!”_

_“And you know the rules:  we’re not sharing what our counterparts know with each other.”_

_“He’s going to get them all killed!”_

_Jaime sighs and leans closer.  “That universe is going to get them all killed.”_

_Brienne blinks and growls and Jaime can’t help but chuckle._

_“Have some faith in Mad Jon Brienne,” he says, “and the others.  They’ve managed to survive this long, you know.”_

_She subsides, muttering what Jaime’s sure are curses under her breath._

*/*/*/*/*

_The computer pings and they ready themselves with grim determination._

_Once they’re prepared for the experiment, Brienne glares at him and growls, “I hate this fucking universe,” and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   You probably all know by now that I don’t really do graphic, but just a reminder that this is a dark universe; grim things happen or are talked about.  Please read responsibly.

 

***/*/*/*/***

There’s two years’ worth of dust in the lobby of Baratheon Tower, the tallest office building in King’s Landing.  The rioters had been here, too, at some time during the fall of King’s Landing.  Brienne can see where the scorch marks of fires long cold scar the walls.  She wonders what happened here, how the fires went out.  For a moment, she can see the screaming, raging crowds and wonders if there was anyone here trying to stop them.  Wonders if beneath the rubble lie the bones of someone just trying to stem the madness.

She wonders what it was like in those expensive offices immediately after the Event.  It must have been annoying at first...at worst...after the power went out.  Mayhaps it was a little frightening once they realized they needed to evacuate the building by walking down a pitch black stairwell.  Mayhaps a few of them had flashlights that still worked...mayhaps.

She wonders how long people waited before deciding to leave.  She wonders how it felt to make that long, slow trek down that dark stairwell, the relief as they made the street...only to realize the vehicles don’t work either.  She wonders—

“Stop,” Jaime murmurs and she turns, blinking.

“Don’t think about it,” he says, kindness beneath the stark grief in his eye.  “Don’t imagine it.”

“How...?”

His half-smile is sad.  “Cersei was institutionalized in Maegor’s Sanitarium.  Sometimes it’s like a waking nightmare when I think about it too much.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.  Me, too.”  He looks away. “Let’s find a stairwell.”

*/*/*/*/*

They light their lanterns and climb, carefully and slowly, to the top floor and from there, they find the ceiling access and step out on the roof and into the heat and the sun.

“Thank the gods it’s only twenty storeys,” Jaime groans.

“Bloody high enough,” Brienne mutters.

“Going down will be easier.”

They walk to the edge and Brienne scans what she can see of the city while Jaime peers through binoculars at Visenya’s Hill.

She slowly turns and walks to the northern edge of the building.  There’s the Hill of Rhaenys, where the remains of Rhaegar’s Palace still stand.  At the foot of the Hill is Flea Bottom—revitalized into a trendy shopping district—now nothing but burnt-out ruins. 

“There are people living in the ruins of the Great Sept,” Jaime calls.

Brienne frowns.  “It’s on a hill, easily fortified.  Makes sense.”

“And there’s some land available for crops, which I can see are growing.  It looks like they may have some animals, as well.  I see fences.”

Brienne’s mouth suddenly waters.  “Cattle?” she asks hopefully.  She’d dearly love to taste beef again.

Jaime’s grin is fleeting.  “Mayhaps.  I can’t see anything in the fenced areas.  Mayhaps whatever animals they had have died.”

Brienne deflates.  “Mayhaps.”

He joins her on the northern side of the roof and lifts his binoculars to peer at the Hill of Rhaenys and the rubble of King Rhaegar’s silver palace he had built after the death of the Mad King.  Even now those parts of the palace not blackened by fire still gleam in the sun.

Jaime says, “You really weren’t exaggerating when you said King’s Landing was burning.”

“No,” she says, her voice soft.  “I’m amazed so much of the city is still undamaged.”  She sighs.  “Of course, it would have been worst round the Palace.  When people want answers, they turn to the King.”

Jaime lowers the binoculars and looks at her.  “Did you ever talk to other survivors?”

“Oh, yes,” she says, “we saw a lot of refugees on our way to King’s Landing, although we tried to keep the children safely out of sight.  There were almost a million people in the city, after all, and most of them were trying to figure out where to go and what to do.”  She grimaces.  “I don’t know what happened to the King.  For all I know, he’s still there, living in his broken Palace and trying to rebuild the world.”

Jaime snorts.  “Mayhaps King Rhaegar could surprise me for once,” he mutters as he lifts the binoculars once again to his eyes.  “But all those people… _gods_ …”

“Don’t imagine it,” Brienne says quietly.  “I’m sure it was the same as in Meereen, or any other city.”

“Mayhaps,” he says, his face grim.  “Doesn’t make it any better.”

“No.”

They’re silent until Jaime finally says, “There are people at the Palace, too, I think.  Or at least there have been.  I can see what looks like campfires.”

Brienne nods and they walk to the eastern edge of the roof and stare at the Red Keep.

“Funny,” she mutters.  Jaime raises an eyebrow and she shrugs.  “Rhaegar’s Palace is destroyed but the Red Keep still stands.”

Jaime’s smile is bitter as he once again looks through his binoculars.  “Somewhere, I can hear the Mad King laughing.”

*/*/*/*/*

They spend the night on the roof.  The air is hot even after the sun has set, and they search for signs of life in the remnants of the city as lightning plays on the horizon.

Even now, Brienne thinks, there’s a kind of harsh beauty to it all as they see, here and there, the wink of light that proves there are still survivors in the ruins.

“Get some sleep,” Jaime finally says.  “I’ll take first watch.”

Brienne nods and kisses him good-night.

*/*/*/*/*

“Can we defend this place?” Brienne says the next morning as they eat their breakfast of smoked pork, flat bread, and water.

Jaime shrugs.  “We can defend any place,” he says.  “The more important question is how long the building will stand.”

Brienne frowns.  “Hundreds of years,” she says.

“Will it?”  Jaime shakes his head with a frustrated sigh.  “I wanted to use this as our castle, but without an HVAC to circulate air, we’ll likely need to remove at least one panel of glass in whatever floors we occupy.”

Brienne frowns.  “It’s a closed system, yes, but we wouldn’t suffocate in that building for years!”

Jaime grunts in frustration.  “I don’t know enough about how high-rises were built to know if there’d be enough fresh air seeping into the building even without an HVAC—but we also have no way to maintain the building.  If windows weaken and fall out, there’s nothing we can do about it, except board up the empty spaces.  And while we could use the roof for a garden, it’s not enough space to grow enough food to sustain a growing population over any length of time.”

Brienne raises her hands in surrender.  “This place was your idea!”

Jaime sighs.  “I know.”  He gets to his feet and wanders towards the eastern edge, scowling at the Red Keep.  “Gods.  The last place I want us to call our own is the Red Keep,” he mutters.

Brienne frowns.  “I know it has a lot of bad memories for you—”

“Do you?”  He turns and glares, his eyes cold and angry.  “You have no fucking idea all the memories that heap of stone holds for me!”

Brienne blinks, taken aback, then she says, quietly, “No.  I don’t.  But I do know we can’t allow those memories to hold us hostage.”  She touches her scarred cheek.  “We need to keep going anyway.”

Jaime immediately looks shame-faced.  “Brienne—”

“It’s all right,” she says and gives him a half-smile.  “Really.  But you wanted a castle and _that_ —” she nods towards the Red Keep— “is the only one I see.”

*/*/*/*/*

They make their way to the Red Keep where they spend a couple of days searching through the various buildings of the castle and sleeping at the top of the thick wall that protects the castle.  They take turns standing guard and watching, waiting to see if anyone creeps out from some secret corner of the Red Keep.  By the end of the third day, they decide they must be the only people there...except for the bones of the men who had attacked Brienne the day she met Jaime, remnants of whom can still be seen at the foot of the Rookery.

They take the bones and throw them from the eastern wall, then cautiously explore the Red Keep with an assessing eye.  There are spacious albeit overgrown gardens within the walls of the castle and they discover the ancient and heavy portcullis can still be raised and lowered using chains and pulleys.

“I’m amazed it still works,” Jaime murmurs as he raises it again and she nods.  “It’s been what?  Ten years since King Rhaegar abandoned the place?”

“About that, yes,” she says and shivers.  Despite her brave words on the roof of the Baratheon Tower, the Red Keep symbolizes the bloodthirsty madness of King Aerys II.  Too many people passed through this very gate only to disappear behind these imposing red walls; there were too many whispered stories of the atrocities committed in the Mad King’s name.

She shivers again.

King Rhaegar tried to make a new start by building a palace, not a castle, on the Hill of Rhaenys, and the Red Keep was something that most people did their best to pretend didn’t exist, especially after Maegor’s Holdfast was converted to Maegor’s Sanitarium.  Brienne supposes she shouldn’t be so surprised that none of the survivors in King’s Landing chose to live here.

She glances at Jaime.  “You really think we’ll be safer here?”

He sighs.  “I don’t know,” he says, “but here we have walls and a portcullis, and we can see what’s coming at us…to a certain extent, anyway.  In the forest, we’re hidden, but so is everybody else, and we’re far too vulnerable to animals and nature.”

“We have nineteen children.  It would be virtually impossible to defend this place.”

Jaime gives her a grim nod.

“True.  But we can’t stay in the forest.  And there’s something more, depending on how long-term we want to think.”

Brienne gives him a puzzled frown.

“The settlement is on the river, a bit downstream from where the Gods’ Eye River meets the Blackwater Rush.  Both of those were dammed almost a hundred years ago.  Nobody’s maintaining those dams now.”

She pulls in a sharp, hissing breath.  “How much water is in the reservoirs?”

“Enough to wipe out everything in its path all the way to the Blackwater Bay, no matter which dam breaks.”

“But it should take at least a hundred years before either dam fails.  Right?”

Jaime gives her a wry smile.  “Right.  Or it could happen tomorrow.”

*/*/*/*/*

They make their way onto the walls of the Red Keep and walk to look south and across the mouth of the Blackwater Bay.

“Martell Town is another day’s walk in that direction,” Jaime says, pointing.

Brienne squints, and imagines she can see, very faintly, small columns of smoke twisting into the sky, although mayhaps it’s only wishful thinking.  At least she knows they’re a form of ally, unlike the unknown survivors living here in King’s Landing.

They stroll the walls to look to the west, towards their own settlement.  Jaime lifts his binoculars to his eyes, then growls a curse.  He shoves them at Brienne and she looks through them with a puzzled frown.

Then she sees it and she freezes in horror, her hand gripping Jaime’s arm.

There, on the horizon, in the depths of the forest—

“ _Fire_ ,” she whispers.

*/*/*/*/*

It takes them only a day and a half to get back to the settlement, jogging and walking, and sleeping only for a few hours before moving again.  Mixed with the smell of summer wilting beneath the heat of the sun is smoke, and Jaime wonders how far the fire has travelled if they can already smell it.  The wind had shifted in the night, and he thinks it’s now behind the flames.  Fear grips him in a way he didn’t think was still possible after the Event and all that has happened since.

By the time they get to the settlement, the smoke is growing steadily thicker and Jaime imagines he can hear the fire as it steadily eats its way towards them.

They find most of the younger children huddled in the settlement, but the five oldest and Bran are gone.

“They’re trying to see where the smoke is coming from,” Sansa explains.  “They’ve taken Bran because he’s the best at climbing trees.”

Jaime glances at Brienne.

“We should be ready to evacuate at a moment’s notice,” he says.

She nods, grim-faced yet determined.

They know what can happen with forest fires.  In the days Before, he’d seen the videos of the evacuations of the Riverlands, people barely escaping with their lives through walls of flames.  If the wind continues in this direction, or gets stronger, pushing the flames ahead of it even faster and sending sparks flying ever farther...

Brienne claps her hands together.  “Right.  We’ve practiced this.  Sansa, Joffrey—take two children each and start loading as much of the food as you can onto the rafts.  Mya, Edric—take the rest of the children and start packing what’s necessary out of the shacks.”  She turns to Jaime.  “Go with Sansa and Joffrey.  I’ll go with the others.”

Jaime nods.  “What we can’t take with us, we’ll put in the root cellar and the cistern.”

As he hurries the children away, he hears Brienne say to her group of children, “We’ll use blankets to wrap everything.  Come on, let’s make it a game.”

Jaime turns round at that and yells, “I fucking love you, Brienne Tarth!”

She spins and gapes at him.  He grins and salutes her, then turns and hurries after his own passel of children.

*/*/*/*/*

By the time the rest of the children return, the smoke is obviously thicker and Brienne imagines she can hear the crackle of the flames even though the others assure her the fire is still a long ways away.

“But heading in this direction,” Jon says, his face grim, “and moving fast.”

Brienne glances up at the sky.  Night is falling, and fire never sleeps.  She looks at Jaime, who gives her a grim nod.

“We leave tonight,” she says.  “Throw anything else you hope to save into the root cellar, then we’ll launch the rafts and go.”

They make short work of it, and she leads them to the river where she and Jaime get the children on the rafts and launches one raft after another before it’s finally time for them to get on their own raft.

She wants to look back, to remember this small place of safety they had carved out for themselves:  the shacks, the cistern, the root cellar, the waterwheel.  She wants to weep at leaving it all, at taking that illusion of stability and safety away from the children yet again.

But there’s no time for such luxury.  The thickening smoke is making darkness fall even faster.  She glances at Jaime and gets on the raft, and he pushes them away from the bank and into the middle of the river, and then they’re caught by the current and all they can do is hold on and let the river carry them where it may.

*/*/*/*/*

Night has long fallen by the time they make it out of the forest and Brienne is weak with relief as they finally run their rafts aground and pull both the rafts and the children on to land.  They’re still not safe, but King’s Landing is now less than a day’s walk away, and there’s at least the promise of shelter there.

Jaime walks to where she’s busily getting a small campfire started while the children ready their bedding for the night.

“You know we have no choice now, right?” she says, glancing up at him.  “We need the Red Keep.”

He nods.  “I know.  There’s no guarantee this fire won’t reach King’s Landing.  The Red Keep is made of stone, it’s on a high hill, and it’s actually a working castle.  It may be the safest place in the city.”  He frowns.  “But we won’t be the only ones who know that.  If the fire reaches King’s Landing, we won’t be the only ones looking for safety.”

She sits back on her heels and gives him a steady look.  “I know,” she says, “but we have no choice.”

*/*/*/*/*

They cannibalize the rafts and use the materials to build sleds that they take turns pulling towards the city.  They reach the Tourney Grounds and stop for the night.  As night falls once again, they can see the glow of the fire in the sky behind them as it steadily eats its way closer.

Once most of the children are asleep, and Robb and Gendry are standing guard, Brienne walks back the way they had come, staring at that red-orange glow.  The wind has picked up, and while it’s feeding and driving the fire, it at least helps to keep the smoke here to a thin haze.

Jaime quietly steps to her side and slips an arm round her waist.

“We were building a _home_ ,” she whispers.

“I know,” he whispers in her ear, pulling her close.  “We’re just going to have to build a new one.”

She turns towards him, wraps her arms round him and buries her face in his neck.

*/*/*/*/*

Later, after they’ve finished their own guard duty and finally sought their makeshift bed, Brienne snuggles closer to Jaime and whispers, “You told me you loved me.”

“I did.”

“Why did you say that?”

“Because it’s true.”

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne blinks as the control room comes back into focus._

_“Well,” Jaime says and she turns dazed eyes towards him, “you can’t say these universes are boring.”_

_She gives him a slight smile as she pulls off her skull cap, “I can still smell and taste the smoke,” she says with a grimace.  She stands.  “I know it’s not real in our universe, but I need to go take a shower.”_

*/*/*/*/*

_Brienne stands beneath the streaming water and sighs.  Another Jaime telling another Brienne he loves her.  She doesn’t know what that means.  She doesn’t want to think about it.  Not yet, anyway.  Not now._

_She lifts her head and lets the water wash over her, rinsing away the memory of the acrid smoke coating her skin and clothes._

_One more visit to the Mad Jon universe, she thinks, and then it’s the Prince and Princess, and then..._

_She turns off the water and wipes the water from her face._

_And then it’s back to her life._

_She’s not sure if she’s relieved at the thought or disappointed._

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime glances over at her and raises an eyebrow as she finishes replacing her skull cap and ensuring the brain scanning equipment is on and recording._

_“Ready?” he says._

_She takes a deep breath and nods.  “Ready,” she says and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne takes the lead as they straggle through the streets of King’s Landing, and the back of Jaime’s neck prickles every step of the way. 

They spent almost four days and nights in the Red Keep without seeing any sign of survivors within its walls, but the castle is huge.  Still, he supposes if there are people hiding deep in its walls, they’ll show themselves soon enough.  He just hopes they’ll be able to survive it if they do.

Jaime closes the portcullis behind them with relief and follows the others into the heart of the castle.  He finds the children huddled in a cluster beside the sept.

Jaime puts down the leads of his sled and goes to stand beside Brienne.  Together they slowly turn and look round them.  His gaze slides over the remains of Maegor’s Sanitarium—once known as Maegor’s Holdfast.  Its walls have fallen into rubble and are black with scorch marks.  From the looks of it, bombs of some kind had been used to destroy it.  The first time he’d seen it—the day he rescued Brienne from her would-be rapists—he’d wondered if the building had been destroyed by its former residents.

Like Cersei.

He shies away from the thought and turns to look at the still-standing walls of the Throne Room.  For a moment he hears the Mad King’s voice echoing off its walls.

Too many fucking ghosts in this place, he thinks, and turns away.

*/*/*/*/*

They set up their living spaces in the White Sword Tower, mainly because its single entrance is easily barricaded, there are no windows near the ground, and the winding staircase means any attackers who can break through the door would have to climb up one at a time.

“Of course, it means we’ll be descending one at a time, too,” Jaime mutters and Brienne shushes him.

*/*/*/*/*

It doesn’t take long to get settled, and that night, after their return from guard duty, Brienne admits to Jaime that it feels almost decadent to be sleeping in a real bed again, even if it is a bit dusty.

Jaime’s grin is wicked as he rolls on top of her.  “Well, I, for one, am going to enjoy having a completely private bedroom,” he purrs and kisses her.

*/*/*/*/*

They cautiously explore the still-intact buildings of the castle, and Brienne and Jaime go on the walls several times a day to check on the fire.  The air is filling once again with thick smoke that clings to their clothes and clogs their lungs, and Brienne is worried about Dickon Tarly’s increasingly laboured breathing and hacking cough.  She’s told him to stay inside as much as he can with the windows closed, and hopes that will be enough.

Each evening the fire gets closer and she thinks it may have now progressed far enough to destroy their little settlement, their water wheel and their communal fire pit and their homes.  She sighs.

“We’re alive,” Jaime says, putting his arm round her.  “The children are alive.  We have food and shelter and at least some small measure of safety.  If we’re lucky, everything we put into the root cellar will still be there once the fire is out and the ashes have cooled enough for us to return.”

She sighs.  “I know.  It’s just...I’m tired of the insecurity.”

“Well, we’re in a castle now, my lady.” Jaime says, lifting her hand to his lips and brushing a kiss against her knuckles.  He gives her a smirk.  “Can’t get much more secure than that.”

She rolls her eyes but can’t help but smile back at him.  “Just remember that castles fall, _my lord,_ if you’re not careful.”

Jaime kisses her.  “Then let us be careful.”

*/*/*/*/*

The wind picks up that night, howling in gusts round the White Sword Tower, and in the morning, the plains between the forest and King’s Landing are burning.

*/*/*/*/*

They go out in groups of four to scavenge through as many houses as they can, as quickly as they can.

That’s when they find their first survivors.

Three filthy, semi-feral-looking children, the oldest not much more than thirteen or fourteen.  Lommy, he calls himself, and the boy with him is Hot Pie, and the silent girl clinging to Hot Pie’s hand is called Weasel.  She looks to be no more than five years old and Brienne thinks it’s a miracle she’s still alive.

She shifts her gaze from the three children to Jaime, who looks for all the world like a little boy presenting three half-starved kittens to his mother while begging her to let him keep them.

Something gives way inside her.

“I fucking love you, Jaime Lannister,” she says with a resigned sigh and is rewarded with his eyes lighting up as a grin spreads across his face.

She turns to the new children.  “Right.  Let’s get you settled then.”

*/*/*/*/*

“Next time, can you find adults?” she says that night in their bedchamber, her head resting against his chest.

His chuckle rumbles against her ear.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

*/*/*/*/*

Adults find them instead. 

Four of them.  Two couples:  three men and one woman, and after mutually cautious negotiations, guns at the ready on both sides, they come to an even more cautious agreement.  The newcomers settle in the Tower of the Hand, their meagre food supplies are added to what was brought from the forest, and their much-needed bodies are put to work guarding the castle.

*/*/*/*/*

The fire eats its way closer until it finally reaches the outskirts of the ruined city.  As building after building begins to smoulder then burn, more and more of those who had clung to survival in the dark houses and basements creep to the Red Keep, begging for safety from the flames.  One day, a group of fourteen—on _horses—_ approach the gate.

Jaime and Brienne run to meet them, guns at the ready.

“By the gods,” the leader says, a tall man, red-haired and thin, “Jaime fucking Lannister.”

Jaime’s eyes widen.  “ _Addam?_   Addam Marbrand?”

The stranger laughs.  “What’s left of him, aye.”  His grin is sincere even if his eyes are wary.  “How did you end up here?”

“The same way you did:  by accident.”  Jaime looks at the motley crew behind Addam.  “ _Horses?_ ”

Addam nods almost proudly.  “Thank the gods for hobby farmers, Jaime.  There are a couple herds currently running wild in the Riverlands...if those assholes ever stop killing them long enough.”

“Which assholes?” Brienne asks sharply.

Addam gives her an assessing look.  “Pick a group.  The Mountain’s Men; Brotherhood without Banners; Bloody Mummers.  They’re all doing their best to destroy the Riverlands and everything in it.”  He cranes his neck to look up at the towering walls of the Red Keep.  “They’ll eventually come here, when they’ve run out of sport elsewhere.”

“We know,” Jaime says, and orders the portcullis to be raised.

*/*/*/*/*

“How are we going to feed everyone?” Brienne says as they pace the wall.  It’s finally begun to rain, dampening the ashes of the burned out forest, and slowing the spread of fire within the city walls.

Jaime gestures towards the Blackwater Bay and the ocean beyond.  “Think we can find some boats?”

*/*/*/*/*

They learn to ride, forcing themselves to continue even though their bodies ache and some days they can barely make it up the stairs of the White Sword Tower to their bed.

Jaime leads Addam and several others back to the settlement to rescue whatever survived in their root cellar and cistern, and Addam tells him they found some cattle roaming freely near what remains of Rosby.

“And who knows what we might find in the Reach,” Jaime says to Brienne in the privacy of their bed the night they return from herding a half dozen cattle back to the Red Keep.  “We’re talking about going on a scouting mission in the spring.”

She rolls on her side and looks at him, her eyes luminous in the moonlight shining through the window.  “I’ll go with you,” she says.

Jaime reaches out and gently strokes her cheek.  “You’re needed here,” he says softly.  “You’re the one holding all of this together.”

Even in the dark, Jaime can see she blushes.  “No, I’m not.  It’s you.”

“I’m the Kingslayer.  People are afraid of me and that makes them obey me—but they trust you.”

“Then they need both of us.”

He pulls her close and buries his face in her neck.  “Please don’t ask me to rule,” he whispers against her warm skin.

Her arms are strong and sure as she holds him.  “You’re already ruling, Jaime,” she whispers in his ear, “and if you can risk yourself by riding off for gods know how long, into gods know what kind of danger, then I can go with you and make sure you make it back in one piece.”

*/*/*/*/*

The sad part, Jaime thinks, is that she’s right.  As their population continues to slowly grow, he and Brienne are spending more and more of their time adjudicating minor disputes, ordering people around, working with everyone to ensure there’s enough food for the winter, and making sure no one within the Red Keep is a danger to anyone else.  They’ve even become diplomats, making contact with the other two settlements on Rhaenys’ Hill and the Hill of Visenya before they went on their mission to Rosby.

The survivors who trickle into the Red Keep range from half-starved, desperate people who approach the gate without much hope and who literally no longer care if they live or die to those who have begun to hear rumors there’s safety to be found behind the thick, red walls.

Their settlement is made up of almost a hundred people now, although more than half of them are under the age of twenty.  With the other two settlements, there are less than three hundred people in a city that once housed a million souls.

Some days, when he thinks about where he is and what he’s doing, Jaime honestly doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry.

*/*/*/*/*

“You need to call a Great Council,” Addam tells him.  The air has turned cool and the crisp of winter is in the air.

“You know better than that,” Jaime says with a scowl.

“We have eighty-three people here now, Jaime, and they’re all looking to you and Brienne for leadership.  Right now, they’re still willing to follow you, but we need to make it official.  We need to declare someone as King before someone else decides to simply take the Throne by force.”

Jaime shakes his head.  “I’m the Kingslayer, remember?  Not a King...but I will support Brienne as Queen.”  He shakes his head.  “Not that she’ll like that.”

“You’re both already doing the job,” Addam says.  “We just need to make it _real_.”

Jaime scowls.  “I’ll talk to her.”

*/*/*/*/*

The night before the Great Council he takes Brienne to the Throne Room, more for his own moral support than because he really wants her to see it.

They pace the length of the room, their lanterns held high, and they’re almost at the foot of the dais when Jaime sees that that ugly fucking chair really is still there.  King Rhaegar truly had tried to distance himself from _everything_ to do with his father.

They stop at the foot of the stairs, staring up at that monstrosity.  It used to be intimidating, Jaime thinks, and now it’s just...nothing more than a waste of good swords.

“I killed him here, you know,” he says, and his voice feels dampened by the silence and the dim light and the dust.

“I know,” she says.

“The official story is that I killed him in self-defense after he attacked me.”

“I know.  There were conspiracy theories, saying you were trying to usurp the Throne for yourself.  But the real reason you were condemned in the public eye was because you were his Kingsguard.  Your job was to die for the King, if need be.  Most people thought you should have let him kill you.”

Jaime’s smile is bittersweet.

“People always had a romanticized view of the Kingsguard, including me.  Highly trained men and women in dark suits and sunglasses, willing to take a bullet for the royal family.”  He stares at the Iron Throne with a twisted smile.  “I was very proud, you know.  I was the youngest person ever to be accepted into the Kingsguard and it was exciting and sobering to be given such a high honor, to be by the King’s side wherever he went.  I would have gladly died for him.  At first.

“Nobody warned me just how mad King Aerys truly was.  Nobody warned me about what he did to his wife, or his enemies, or just how paranoid he was.”  He turns and deliberate looks into her eyes.  “It wasn’t self-defense.”

Brienne says nothing, just silently watches him.

“He was getting increasingly paranoid.  His political enemies were quietly... _disappearing_.  He thankfully never asked me to do anything in that respect, but he didn’t trust me.  I had been to Essos, you see, and he was increasingly convinced Essos was plotting to attack him.  Not Westeros— _him_.  Personally.”  Jaime shrugs.  “He may not have been entirely wrong in that respect, at least.  If he had trusted in his Kingsguard, or if the Kingsguard hadn’t turned away while he committed his worst offenses or if his useless son had grown a set of balls and taken steps to depose his father before things got so completely out of hand...”  He shakes his head.  “Doesn’t matter now.  Aerys decided Essos was plotting against him, and worse:  had planted traitors throughout Westeros—but especially in King’s Landing itself.  He was being attacked…but _he_ had the launch codes for Westeros’ nuclear arsenal.”

Brienne pulls in a sharp breath.

“Burn them all, he said.  I think he believed the mythology of the Targaryen family, believed he would be reborn from the ashes as a true dragon.”

“He was going to bomb his own kingdom?”

Jaime’s lips twist into a bitter smile.  “I tried to arrest him.  It didn’t go well.”

“So, in a way it _was_ self-defense.”

He huffs something that might have been a laugh.  “Don’t try to excuse it,” he says, shaking his head.  “He didn’t attack me.  I shot him quite... _deliberately_.  It was... _easier_.”

He turns and looks at her.

“You deserve a better man to love you, Brienne.”

Brienne looks at him and in the dim blow of their lanterns, her eyes are large and luminous, calm, and almost as beautiful as she is.  Her lips quirk into a slight smile before she leans in and gently kisses him.

“You’re a good man, Jaime Lannister, and you’re the only man I want to love me,” she whispers, then moves into his arms and kisses him again.

*/*/*/*/*

To absolutely no one’s surprise—except perhaps their own—the Great Council officially names Jaime and Brienne the King and Queen of the Red Keep.  They reluctantly accept the honor, then they have a small feast, officially name their Small Council, and life immediately returns to their new normal.

Jaime snickers as he eagerly helps Brienne out of her clothes that night.

“What’s so funny?” she asks.

“I was hoping to be known as the Queen’s Consort rather than King,” Jaime says.

She frowns.  “Why?”

Jaime’s grin is wicked as he presses her down onto the bed. “Because being a Consort sounds really sexy,” he says and kisses her.

*/*/*/*/*


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   Canon-compliant coarse language.  Sexual situations, although nothing graphic.  Past Jaime/Cersei.  Um...Prince Jaime is an idiot??

***/*/*/*/***

Jaime, Brienne sees with relief, is as flabbergasted as she feels.  They stare at each other in stunned silence then he says, “King?  _Again_?”

Brienne nods, struck mute at what had happened.

Jaime frowns thoughtfully as he pulls off the skull cap and ruffles his hair.  He looks unbearably sexy and Brienne quickly looks away as she removes her own skull cap.

“Well,” he says with a shrug, “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

She raises an eyebrow in question.

He smirks.  “I’m Jaime fucking Lannister; I’ve always been exceptional.”

“Oh, for gods’ sakes,” Brienne mutters and rolls her eyes.

Jaime laughs then glances at the time.  “So, what do you want to do?  We have enough time tonight to run the last three experiments.  You want to get everything done tonight?”

She frowns.  “Finish two days early?”

He shrugs.  “Just a thought.  We could spend a couple of days here, do the tourist thing before heading home.  Or we could rent a car and really make a holiday of it.  Go to the ruins of Winterfell, or Eastwatch-by-the-Sea?  Take your ratty little mutt to another beach and see if he fares any better than he did in Meereen?”

“He isn’t ratty,” she automatically mutters and to her surprise, finds herself seriously considering the suggestion.

Jaime peers at her face and grins.  “You’re tempted!”

“Oh, shut up,” she growls.  “I’ve just always wanted to see Winterfell.”

“Me, too.  We could make it a real road trip.  Go to Winterfell, detour to Moat Cailin, zig zag to the Twins, then stop at Riverrun and Harrenhal before heading home to King’s Landing.”

Brienne’s eyes narrow with suspicion.

“Why?” she asks.

Jaime shrugs.  “We’ve done some good work here, these last few months.  Some really good work.  Our lives will change forever when we get back.  Analyzing data, writing our paper—”

“Debating ethics.”

He grins.  “Debating ethics, among many, many other things.  I also need to find my own place once we get back—Tyrion’s sex life is going to make me go blind.”

Brienne’s eyes widen and Jaime sputters into laughter.

“Not because I’m getting off on it, Junior!  I just don’t like seeing my brother naked.”

She slowly grins.  “That’s a relief, considering Prince Jaime’s tendency to keep things like that in the family.”

Jaime groans and covers his face with his hands as Brienne laughs at him.

He sighs and grins at her.  “So, what do you say?” he says.  He leans closer and lowers his voice to a seductive purr.  “We finish tonight and then play hooky for the next week?  And you know what else?  It would be something that’s just us.  None of the other Jaimes and Briennes have been to Winterfell together.”

Brienne stares, mesmerized by the teasing gleam in his eyes, and she nods almost before she realizes what she’s doing.

*/*/*/*/*

_While they wait for the generators to once again reach full power, they spend the time making plans._

_“We’ll be done here round three a.m.,” Jaime says happily.  “We can sleep in tomorrow then hang around Castle Black and head to Winterfell the day after.”_

_Brienne finds herself agreeing once again—because, she hastily assures herself, she’ll be tired tomorrow, anyway, and it’s a long drive to Winterfell._

_The computer pings and Brienne looks at Jaime who’s once again wearing his skull cap._

_“Are you worried about what’s going to happen in this universe?” she abruptly asks._

_Jaime shakes his head.  “So far, so good, Brienne.  No reason to believe this universe isn’t going to be smooth sailing, too.”_

_Brienne scowls.  “I suppose...”_

_Jaime grins.  “Trust me,” he says and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Over the next fortnight, Brienne and Jaime cautiously ease into a new routine.  It’s pleasant enough, Brienne thinks as she goes for a ride outside of the city, comfortably clad in her armour with a sword by her side.

Brienne spars with Sandor Clegane each morning in the training yard, and when it’s time, Jaime finds her and escorts her back to their apartments so they can change clothes before attending King Tywin in the Throne Room.  There, they, along with the King, hear the petitions of high-born and smallfolk alike.  They watch and listen as King Tywin passes judgment and later discuss the King’s decisions and the reasons for them.  When the King dismisses them from his presence, they go about their separate business, Jaime to his soldiers and Brienne to meet with the castellans of the Red Keep and King’s Landing.  When she finishes with them, she spends her late afternoons with the high-born ladies who have arrived at her court, doing her best to build political alliances with the women and their families for her sweet husband and good father.

Brienne takes her duties seriously.  She may not be a beauty, she tells herself grimly, but she _will_ be a good Queen, even if she wishes she could ride out with Jaime to inspect the army instead.

The one concession to her previous career as her father’s most successful Lord Commander is her early morning sparring sessions with Sandor Clegane.  She feels most herself when she’s in the training yards, in her armour and with a sword in her hand, and she’s determined she will not lose her connection to the sword or to the Lord Commander she used to be.  She pesters Jaime with questions about the army when they meet again in their apartment to ready themselves for dinner in the Great Hall, where they then sit on either side of his father at the High Table.

Every night, without fail, Jaime visits her in her bedchamber.  She douses the lantern so he can do his duty before he leaves her alone to sleep in peace.

She’s still confused as to why the pain Septa Roelle told her about has not yet occurred.  She’s grateful, but each night she is tense and wary, unable to relax as Jaime kisses her and touches her in ways that are becoming more familiar but are still...strange.  She wants to believe the agony Septa Roelle assured her was the lot in life for women like her will never happen...but she cannot quite bring herself to trust. 

As she turns her horse back towards the city and allows her to amble along, Brienne admits to herself that she _wants_ to trust.  She feels almost weak when Jaime slips beneath the covers with her, and when he _touches_ her...it’s almost _pleasurable_ , although she’s hesitant to use that word to describe the strange sensations that build inside her when Jaime touches her breasts or her back or between her legs.  His mouth on her breasts sends sharp flashes that feel like lightning through her body, and—

She abruptly spurs the horse into a gallop, trying to outrace her thoughts.

She must be mistaken, after all, she tells herself as the horse flies over the ground.  There is no pleasure in the marriage bed, and even if there is, it is not for women like her.

Septa Roelle told her so.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime does his duty by Brienne and to his surprise, feels absurdly guilty when he leaves her bed each night.  Some of the guilt is because there’s still a part of him that feels as if he’s betraying Cersei, especially since he’s surprisingly aroused by his sweet wife’s body and has not once needed to pretend he’s fucking a different woman.  But in truth, most of his guilt is caused because he feels like he is treating Brienne as simply a body to be used.

Brienne, in her turn, tolerates his attentions but shows no pleasure in them.  He seems to ready her enough to make it comfortable, even if not exactly pleasurable for her, but every night when he reaches for her, it’s almost as if he is touching her for the first time.  She seems both afraid and confused, cold and unyielding, and that, in turn, makes him think he needs must get things finished as quickly as possible to ease her discomfort.

Jaime frowns as his horse canters back to the city from the army yards.

Mayhaps he is not the only one confused.

He remembers Brienne was badly injured in one of the last battles of the war.  Mayhaps she knocked her head and some parts of her memory no longer work properly.  Mayhaps she simply can’t remember what fucking is like from one night to the next.  Jaime’s known enough old soldiers to know such things are not uncommon—they can remember every detail of a battle ten years in the past and yet cannot remember how to close their breeches.

But he doubts his theory is true.  Princess Brienne is bright enough with all else.  Slow with words, yes, and she will never win a battle of wits, ‘tis true, but she’s bright and willing to learn and unafraid to speak her piece when she has something to say, even if she needs must make her case to his sweet father, the King.  She is also strong enough with a sword to hold her own against Sandor Clegane and win.  He watches their morning sparring sessions, and Clegane does not coddle her.  Of course, Jaime’s not surprised at Brienne’s skills.  He crossed swords with her himself on a bloody battlefield and if they had been able to fight to the finish...well, he honestly cannot say which one of them would still be alive.

He pulls his horse to a walk as he reaches the Gate of the Gods and looks round him as he makes his way through King’s Landing without really seeing his surroundings.

They’re locked in another battle, he fears, but a battle he does not understand or know how to fight.  Or mayhaps it is as simple as the fact she does not desire him.  He has heard the marriage bed can be cold and loveless, and mayhaps that is to be their fate as well.

Not that it matters—and he doesn’t know why he’s disappointed at the thought.  This is a political marriage after all, not a love match, and he and Brienne have struck a bargain of their own beyond the peace their fathers forged by trapping their children in this farce of a marriage.

Well, the sooner he gets the woman with child, the sooner he will have the heirs he needs, and then they will both be free.

Two sons, he tells himself as he rides into the Red Keep, two sons and done.

*/*/*/*/*

Two sons, Brienne tells herself, two sons and done.  One for him; one for her.

She watches from the wall of the Red Keep as Jaime approaches the castle’s gate and feels her heart twist.

If only...

She stops.

There is no point in wishing for things that will never be, she grimly tells herself.  His heart belongs to another woman—whether that woman is his sweet sister or no—and there is nothing she can do to change that.

The marriage bed is not the painful ordeal Septa Roelle had assured her it was and that fact alone still confuses her.  She’s even more confused and surprised at the comfort she finds when Jaime’s body is against hers or beside her in the bed.  Mayhaps...mayhaps when she’s given Jaime the heirs he requires she will be able to find another man who will feel as warm and as comforting.

She watches as Jaime rides through the castle’s gate and disappears into the Red Keep then swallows down tears. 

Her thoughts are naught but a mummer’s tale she tells herself to soothe her aching heart.

No matter the threats she made to her husband, she will never allow another man to touch her.  She swore vows in front of the Seven.  She will not break her word.

And truth be told, she does not want anyone other than Jaime to touch her.

And why she feels this way for a man who can barely bring himself to acknowledge her presence, who slips into her bed in the dark and takes her with barely a word...

She grips the castle wall, her knuckles turning white.

She’s a fool, she tells herself bitterly.  She should have refused this marriage pact and continued the fight until she fell on the battlefield.  It’s the only place she’s ever truly belonged and she should have let herself die there.

She’s a fool, she tells herself again before she straightens her shoulders and heads to her bedchamber.

She has sworn vows and she has duties she must fulfill.  She will be expected in the Great Hall and she needs must make ready.

*/*/*/*/*

The next few weeks are increasingly odd for Brienne.

Jaime joins her each night in her bed, and she has almost begun to trust that the pain and agony Septa Roelle described to her will never appear.  If anything, Jaime’s touch is increasingly becoming something she… _enjoys_ , just like she is increasingly enjoying their time together in the evening, when they speak of what they’ve done during the day while they were apart, and talk about things they hope to improve once Jaime sits the Iron Throne in his own right.

She doesn’t understand why she’s learning to enjoy the time she spends with her sweet husband.  She doesn’t understand why she enjoys his conversation or his observations about events of the day, or even his scathing remarks that are aimed at people she, too, dislikes. 

She doesn’t understand.

She doesn’t understand why what she was told to expect in the marriage bed isn’t happening, and as the days drift into weeks, she becomes increasingly desperate for answers to that mystery, at least.  Such answers should be easy enough to find, if she only had a woman she could trust enough to ask.

Brienne considers her court of ladies and decides the only one she can confide in is Arianne Martell.  The Princess of Dorne is no maid, unlike the other high-born daughters that surround her.  Brienne realizes it’s risky to trust her, but then again, the Princess is no more or less trustworthy than any of her other ladies.

Brienne invites Arianne to join her for a ride and the entire time they sedately walk their horses through the streets of King’s Landing, Brienne wonders how she can possibly raise the questions she needs to have answered with such a beautiful, confident woman.

It’s only after they’ve galloped far from the city that Brienne decides the moment is upon her.

“Your Grace,” she says after they pull their horses back to a walk, “I am sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked you to accompany me today.”

Arianne’s smile is slightly mocking.  “I have been wondering, yes,” she says and for a moment, Brienne quails.  There is no way to have this conversation without being humiliated, she thinks, miserable.  But if she doesn’t take the risk, then there is no hope she will ever understand why her experiences in the marriage bed are... _pleasant_ instead of the excruciating ordeals she had been assured would be her lot.

Brienne scowls down at her over-large hands, confidently holding the reins of her horse, and staunchly tells herself she’s no craven.

“You are not a maid,” she blurts out.

Arianne’s eyes widen.  “Is that a requirement to be a lady in your court?” she asks, and she actually sounds worried.

Brienne turns her scowl on the lovely Princess.  “What?  No.  It’s just...you are the only one of my ladies who I suspect is not a maid, and...and...I have questions.”

Arianne’s confused expression clears.  “About fucking?”

Brienne blushes and she nods, looking away, not wanting to see the mockery on Arianne’s face.

“Your sweet husband—”

“Is not a woman, and I have questions that only another woman can answer...and I have no mother or sister to help me.”

Arianne rides in thoughtful silence.  “Then ask, Your Grace, and I shall do my best to answer,” she says and her voice is kind.

Brienne takes a deep breath and begins to speak.

*/*/*/*/*

What follows is both the most embarrassing conversation of her life and the most enlightening.

She’s certain her fiery red face can be seen all the way in King’s Landing, and yet she’s both disbelieving of and oddly fascinated by what Arianne is telling her.  She does cling with almost desperate relief to Arianne’s confident assurances that Septa Roelle was mistaken in her teachings.

Brienne thanks the Princess of Dorne as they part ways upon their return to the Red Keep, and Arianne says, “I am truly honored you asked for my counsel, Your Grace.”  Her smile seems sincere as she adds, “I will hold our conversation in the utmost confidence.”

Brienne smile is shy.  “Thank you...Arianne.”

Arianne’s own smile widens before she curtsies and hurries away.

Brienne makes her way back to her bedchamber with a thoughtful scowl on her face.

She has much to think on before Jaime visits her bed tonight.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime raises an eyebrow as Brienne walks into her bedchamber.  She has a thoughtful scowl on her face and she starts when she sees him waiting for her.

“Your Grace,” she says, surprised.

“I was beginning to worry, Your Grace,” he says, the title mocking.  “You rode out early with the Princess of Dorne and yet you’re only returning now.”

She blinks those amazing eyes and blushes as she stares at him.

He hides a sigh.  He was right to be worried when he learned she was granting Arianne a private audience.  She was a Lord Commander, but she’s struck dumb at his simplest of questions.  She can protect herself from a physical attack, but she is a babe in the woods when it comes to the machinations of the high-born families that surround them.

“Yes,” she says, her eyes wide and fascinated as she stares at him.

 _This is intriguing_ , Jaime thinks, and wonders what on earth could make his maidenly wife—even though she is a maid no longer—look at him in such a way.  He sees both fear and intrigued interest on her broad, scarred face.

He pushes himself to his feet and prowls towards her.

“What did you speak about with the Princess of Dorne?” he purrs.

Brienne doesn’t back away as he approaches although her eyes seem to grow even larger. 

“We spoke of things that are of interest only to the two of us,” she says primly and he grins.

“Then why are you blushing, Brienne?”

She chews her lip as she stares at him and his gaze drops to her plump mouth.  His cock stirs and he wonders if she’ll ever be ready to learn how to use her mouth for more than simply kissing him.

The thought arouses him more than he expects and he abruptly turns away.

“My mother died when I was very young,” Brienne blurts and he looks over his shoulder at her with surprise.  “There are...I had...”  She shifts uncomfortably but her gaze never wavers.  “There were things I had been told which...turned out to be untrue.  I needed to understand.”

Jaime turns back and frowns.  “And you could not ask me?”

“You are not a woman, Your Grace.”

That takes him aback and then he smiles a little.  “True.”  He thoughtfully considers her.  “Have your questions been answered, then?”

She blushes an even deeper red and she nods frantically, then she frowns.  “Why are you here in my bedchamber?”

He shrugs.  “My afternoon was not as busy as originally planned,” he says carelessly. “I thought you might like to ride out to a little pond several leagues from the city.  Spend some time out of the fetid air of lickspittles trying to curry our favour.  Only you were nowhere to be found and Lady Megga told me you rode off with Princess Arianne.  In truth, I had only just arrived to see if you had returned when you walked in.”

“Oh,” she says, and Jaime wonders if he truly hears a note of disappointment in her voice or if he’s imagining it.  Although why he hopes she’s disappointed is something he doesn’t wish to examine too closely.

“‘Tis too late for that now, but mayhaps there is still time for what else I had hoped to do this afternoon,” he says slowly, and her eyes widen as she recognizes the expression on his face.

“In the _daylight_?”

He shrugs as he prowls to the door leading to the hall and turns the key in the lock.

“Jaime...” she says faintly but Jaime can’t decipher if she’s protesting or yielding.

He doesn’t turn to look at her again until he’s locked the door connecting her bedchamber to the dressing room that separates their bedchambers.

There’s a high colour in her cheeks, and her eyes are dark and wary.  He prowls to her and begins unbuckling her doublet.

“It’s daylight,” she whispers, her voice husky.

He shrugs.  “We won’t dissolve if we’re naked together in the light,” he murmurs.

“But you...you won’t be able to...to...”  She flushes a deep, dark red but makes no effort to stop him as he finishes removing her doublet.  He tosses it aside then begins unlacing her tunic, and she’s biting on that deliciously plump bottom lip again.

He shrugs. “I guess we’ll learn what I’m capable of during the day,” he murmurs as he slides his hands inside her tunic and smooths his palms over her warm, soft skin as he kisses her.

*/*/*/*/*

The next few days are both revelatory and confusing for Jaime.

Brienne is still shy in the bedchamber, still anxiously douses the lanterns when he arrives at her bedside, but she is not nearly as cold and unyielding as she had been for the last few weeks.  She touches him now—cautiously, almost chastely, ‘tis true, but somehow her calloused fingers tentatively stroking down his spine lights a fire inside him.  It’s not the same fire Cersei has always ignited, but it’s a fire nonetheless.

It makes no sense, he thinks one afternoon as court ends and he and Brienne part to attend to their separate duties.

He scowls as he strides purposefully towards the stables and almost bowls over Arianne Martell as he rounds a corner.

“My pardons, Your Grace,” he says.

Arianne bobs a graceful curtsy then smiles.  “No harm done, Your Grace.  I hope I have not unduly interrupted your day.”  Her smile turns teasing.  “You appear to be a man on a mission.”

“I’m on my way to the army yards,” he mutters.

“Then I won’t impede you any longer,” she says, bobs another curtsy and glides past him.

Jaime takes a step then abruptly stops and turns.  “Princess Arianne!”

She turns. “Yes, Prince Jaime?”  Her smile is flirtatious, her eyes sparkling, and he hides a sigh.  He wonders if this tendency to flirt at every opportunity is because Arianne is Dornish or because she’s a Martell.

He ignores his thoughts and says, “What do you and my sweet wife speak on when you are alone?”

Arianne’s laugh is sweet and light.  “We are never truly alone, Your Grace, not in King’s Landing.  You have no need to fear I am corrupting your innocent bride.”

“I doubt you could,” he says with a rueful shrug.

“I doubt I could either,” she says.  She glides closer.  “Why do you ask?”

“Princess Brienne is...different, now, than she was before,” he slowly says.  “Whatever you speak on seems to have helped to ease her fears...”

Arianne’s smile is almost kind.  “I have sworn to hold her secrets close, Your Grace.  I will not share them, not even with you.”

He’s surprised by how crestfallen he feels.  “Ah.  I will not beg you to break your word.”  He bows.  “Good day, Your Grace.”

This time she’s the one who calls him back after he has turned away.

“I will not break my word to your sweet wife,” Arianne says, “but I will say this:  she did not have a mother to counsel her on a woman’s lot in life.  Her old septa was either misinformed or deliberately cruel, and Princess Brienne’s experiences have not prepared her for the marriage bed, or, I suspect, for you.”

Jaime remembers some of the things Brienne said during their first bedding.  “I believe I understand,” he says, slowly.  He bows, deeply.  “Thank you, Your Grace, and thank you for being a true friend to my sweet wife.  I shall not forget your kindness.”

Arianne smiles.  “It is easy to be kind to Princess Brienne,” she says, “but you’re welcome anyway.”

*/*/*/*/*

Over the next few days, Jaime deliberately seeks Brienne out whenever he can, although he can’t explain, even to himself, why he so desires to warm things even more between them.

He finally takes her riding to the pond he had mentioned, a few leagues from the city.  There, he strips her down and takes his time fucking her on the soft grass by its bank, looking deep into her eyes as he does so.  Then they swim and talk of little things and bigger things:  their favourite foods (crab for Brienne; roast auroch for Jaime) and their least favourite (stew of any kind; they’ve both spent too many years eating it every day in army camps); the state of the food stores in King’s Landing and the need to provide more food to the smallfolk of the kingdom; the continued disbanding of the army and the challenges of veterans finally returning to civilian life with no place or families or jobs to be found.

They lazily swim and for some reason, it pleases him that she is as comfortable in water as she is in armour.  It pleases him even more when his gentle teasing surprises a shy smile from her lips, and he can’t help but kiss her because of it.

He fucks her again, even more slowly, even more thoroughly, and her soft sighs and mewls and gasps fire his blood in a way he is not expecting.

There is something almost transcendent about it all, this endless afternoon away from the city and suspended in the sunlight.  In the end, as he reaches his peak, her arms and legs wrapped tightly round him, holding him safe, all he can think is _yes_.

He slowly relaxes and nuzzles his face against her neck.

 _Yes_ , he thinks again, sleepily, feeling warm, content, safe, _yes, we’ve created a child._

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime is unbearably smug as they dress, an undertaking that takes longer than usual because he stops to kiss her every few moments.

Brienne doesn’t object; in fact, she quite enjoys it.  She doesn’t think she’s experienced the great pleasure Arianne described to her, but she doesn’t care.  She can’t stop smiling as they finally, reluctantly finish dressing and return to King’s Landing.

*/*/*/*/*

They’re still smiling as they walk into the Great Hall to attend King Tywin at supper.

Arianne raises an eyebrow when she catches sight of Brienne’s glowing face, and Brienne blushes furiously as she takes her customary seat on Tywin’s left hand, while Jaime seats himself on Tywin’s right.

She rather wishes Jaime was beside her then focuses on entertaining the man on her left.

Brienne’s smile falters slightly after he introduces himself as Maester Luwin, arrived that afternoon from Winterfell.  She doesn’t want to think of Cersei after spending such a lovely afternoon with Jaime.  Still, the Queen in the North is far away, and Brienne knows Cersei had been far from Jaime’s thoughts this afternoon as well, and for now, that’s enough.

She shares polite conversation with Maester Luwin then, as the last course is taken away, King Tywin stands and a hush immediately falls over everyone in the Great Hall.

Tywin takes his wine goblet in hand and says, “Maester Luwin is our most honored guest tonight, here at our table.  He is King Eddard Stark’s Maester and he has journeyed the long distance from Winterfell to bring us news.”  He lifts his goblet high.  “Let us drink in celebration and thanksgiving, for my sweet daughter Cersei, the Queen in the North, is with child!”

The blood drains from Brienne’s cheeks even as she forces a smile to her lips while everyone cheers.  She then sips her wine with everyone else.

Once the cheering has ended, she turns to Maester Luwin.  “This is marvellous news,” she says.  “When is the babe expected to be born?”

“In four moons, Your Grace, mayhaps five.  The Queen has not allowed me to examine her at any great length to decide for certain.”

Brienne keeps the smile on her face with an effort.  “Four or five moons?”

Maester Luwin nods, his expression smugly proud.  “King Eddard is a virile man, Your Grace.  The Queen assures me the King got her with child on their wedding night.”

*/*/*/*/*


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   Hmmm...sexy times.  Nothing too graphic but a smidgen more than fade-to-black.  Canon-compliant coarse language.  Past Jaime/Cersei.

***/*/*/*/***

The Wall’s control room returns and Brienne scowls at the computer screens before she levels her scowl on Jaime.

“I am never trusting you again,” she growls.

Jaime groans and slowly lowers his head to the desk in front of him.

*/*/*/*/*

“Things were going so well, too,” Jaime says mournfully.

Brienne sighs, equally mournful.  “They were.”

Jaime slides a glance at her from the corners of his eyes.  “You know,” he says, “I just realized...”

She turns and looks at him, and he loses his train of thought for a moment as he admires the beauty of her eyes.

“You just realized what?” she prompts.

He blinks then smirks.  “Every Brienne I’ve seen—and I’ve seen _almost_ all of them—has that lion-shaped cluster of freckles on their right hip.”

“Oh, for—”  She rolls her eyes and pulls off her skull cap.  “I’m going for a walk.” 

“Oh, come on, Junior!” Jaime calls as she stomps to the door.  “I’m a scientist!  I’m asking for research purposes!”

She spins round and points a warning finger at him.  “Keep talking like that and we’ll go straight home to King’s Landing tomorrow!”

“And disappoint Pod?”

That gives her pause.  “ _Pod?_ ”

“I sent the hotel staff a text.  They’re busy ramping up his excitement level as we speak.”

Brienne presses her lips together, trying to stop the smile that’s tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It’s almost two in the morning,” she says drily.  “Pod is happily chasing rabbits—”

“—who would be twice his size,” Jaime mutters.

“ _Happily chasing rabbits_ , not getting ramped up for something he—oh for the gods’ sake, he’s a ratty little mutt, not a child!”

“He’s not ratty!” Jaime says, and then they’re both laughing so hard tears are spilling down their cheeks.

“We need more sleep,” Brienne says when they finally stop and catch their breath.

“We certainly do,” he says, grinning.

She shakes her head and turns to the door.  “I’ll be back in a few,” she says, and Jaime hears her chuckle again as the door closes behind her.

*/*/*/*/*

_The generators are ready by the time she returns.  She pulls on her skull cap and settles in the chair beside him._

_They exchange nods and then Brienne hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

That night, Brienne locks her doors.

She hears Jaime rattle the latch and she waits, expecting him to shout and pound his fist against the door, to demand entry, demand she do her duty.

But he does none of that, and Brienne doesn’t know if she’s relieved or disappointed.

She sits by her table, a small goblet of wine in front of her, and struggles to control her rage and grief and fear.

Cersei.

_Pregnant._

With the pregnancy occurring so quickly after her wedding, Brienne has no doubt the babe’s true father will never be known.

If King Eddard were to suspect...

Her blood runs cold.

The Starks began a civil war that lasted for over ten years because King Rhaegar took Lyanna Stark, King Eddard’s sister, for his mistress—or mayhaps his bride.  Not that it matters now, so many years later.  The Lannisters put aside their differences with the Starks to rise up in joint rebellion against the last Targaryen King, while the Stormlands fought with the Throne.  Even so, the last Targaryen had been quickly defeated, and the conflicts quickly devolved into an endless, bloody fight to determine who should sit the Southron Throne.

Gold buys loyalty and sellswords, and Tywin Lannister took the Throne because he could hold it, and he did, despite her own best efforts as well as many other Houses.  But now, all these long and violent years later, all the realm really wants now is simply wants peace.

If King Eddard Stark were to discover that the babe his royal wife is carrying could possibly be her brother’s child and not her husband’s...

Brienne feels faint at the thought.

The possibility of re-sparking a war is what concerns her as a Lord Commander, as a Princess, as a future Queen.

As a _woman_...

She closes her eyes, hands clenching as jealous rage sweeps through her, and tells herself she’s being foolish.

Jaime went to Cersei on their—Jaime and Brienne’s—wedding night.  She knows he loves Cersei.  Knows he will always love her.  But they had been fucking for years, Brienne thinks, her heart bitter, and if Cersei truly became pregnant so quickly after Cersei’s own wedding night...is it possible she deliberately did all she could to ensure any babe she bore would be Jaime’s?

Brienne’s head aches.

She sips her wine and thinks on what she can remember from the wedding feast for King Eddard and Cersei:  Ned saying he felt ill, and then her own predicament, waking from a drugged stupor to find herself naked and spreadeagled, tied to her bed.

She takes another sip of wine.

Not Cersei’s wedding night, most like, she thinks, her face grim, and the only reason the woman would make such a claim would be to hide the truth about who actually fathered the babe.

She closes her eyes.

She will never escape Cersei’s shadow, she thinks, not even when the other woman is half a kingdom away.

*/*/*/*/*

Maester Luwin seeks Jaime out when supper ends, calling to him before Jaime can follow after Brienne, who is all but running from the Great Hall when Tywin finally releases them from his presence.

Luwin’s smile seems sincere and innocent enough as he holds out a sealed note.

“From your sweet sister, Your Grace,” he says, as if Jaime doesn’t know who from Winterfell would be writing to him.

“Thank you, Maester,” Jaime says, taking the note from the man’s hand.  “How fares my sweet sister?  When is she to be delivered of the babe?”

“As I told Princess Brienne, the Queen has not allowed me to examine her at any great length, however, she assures me the babe was conceived on her wedding night.”  Luwin chuckles comfortably.  “Women are often wrong about these matters, however.  She will deliver in four months or mayhaps even five.”

Jaime’s smile is sharp and humorless.  “‘Tis not her first child,” he says mildly enough, “she mayhaps knows better when the babe was conceived than a woman who has had no other children.”

Luwin’s face immediately fills with sympathy.  “Ah, yes, the poor Crown Prince and Princess,” he says.  “Pity they died in infancy, Your Grace.  How many years of civil war could have been avoided if only King Rhaegar had had a living heir?”

Even now, even after everything, and just like a trained dog, Jaime still grits his teeth against the jealousy that ripples though him at the fact Cersei gave birth to Rhaegar’s children.  Twins, both died shortly after Rhaegar stole Lyanna Stark from her family and her betrothed.  The babes had not even been weaned yet and they died before Jaime had ever seen them.

Jaime shakes his jealous memories away and nods at Maester Luwin.

“True,” he murmurs, and it is.  Years of war and devastation could have been avoided if only one of the children had lived.  “Thank you, Maester, for travelling so far to give us this news in person.”

Luwin touches the chained collar round his neck.  “The Queen in the North learned I have yearned to forge another silver link for my chain these last years.  There has been much learned of medicine and healing during the war, but I have had no opportunity to learn the new ways while we were at war with the South.  Queen Cersei, in her infinite kindness, persuaded the King to send me to the Citadel, and the only thanks she would accept was for me to detour to King’s Landing to act as her agent in personally sharing their glad news.”  Luwin’s smile turns self-deprecating as he chuckles.  “‘Tis somewhat self-serving, as well, I’ll admit.  I hope to spend time with Grand Maester Pycelle, and I have never seen King’s Landing.”

Jaime forces a chuckle in response.  “Harmless enough ambitions, Maester.”  He bows.  “I thank you for treating my sweet sister so kindly.  Good night.” 

Jaime crushes the note in his hand after he finally makes his escape from the Great Hall.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime tries the door to Brienne’s bedchamber and is not surprised to find it locked against him.

He pours a goblet of wine and gulps it, and wishes it were something else—something that would burn and claw at his throat, something that would _hurt_.

He pours himself another goblet of wine and gulps it as well, then pours himself a third before he finally sits at his side table and picks up the sealed note.  He heaves a deep sigh and opens it.

He skims the words written in Cersei’s hasty yet still elegant hand.  On the surface, the words are innocuous enough:  light-hearted chatter any sister would send to her brother.  Buried within the missive, however, is the true message he knows Cersei means for him to see:

_By now you will have learned the news that I am with child.  ‘Tis surprising that it happened on the wedding night, but mayhaps fortunate as well, since my sweet husband became ill during our journey to Winterfell—so ill I had almost begun to despair for his life!  The gods have been kind, however, and he has recently returned to my bed.  I pray the gods will be as kind to your sweet wife and allow her to give you the heir you so deeply desire since my sincerest wish is for our children to be as siblings to each other._

He crushes the paper in his hand and throws it on the fire.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne successfully avoids Jaime the next morning, which in truth perfectly fits into his own plans for the day.  He seeks out Maester Luwin after breakfast and asks if he has met Grand Maester Pycelle.

“No, Your Grace,” Luwin replies with an obsequious smile, “but I understand he is a busy man since he is a trusted member of the King’s Small Council.”

“You are also a member of your King’s Small Council,” Jaime says with a charming smile.  “I believe he is in his chambers at this time of day.  Walk with me, and I shall introduce you.”

“You are as kind as your sister,” Luwin says as he falls in beside Jaime.

 _Truer words have never been spoken_ , Jaime thinks grimly, and says, “You praise me too highly, Maester, but I thank you for the sentiment.”

They stroll towards the Rookery and Jaime idly says, “How was your journey from Winterfell?  I understand there are still bandits haunting the Riverlands.”

Luwin chuckles.  “The Queen was kind enough to provide me with an escort.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “Oh?  I have not noticed any new horses in the stables.”

“Ser Gregor and his men saw me safely to the gates of King’s Landing, but they immediately continued on to Clegane’s Keep—some small emergency he needs must attend to, I understand.”

Jaime’s blood turns ice cold.  “Kind of him to escort you so far out of his way,” he murmurs.

“Well, when a woman as beautiful as Queen Cersei requests it, Your Grace, there are not many men strong enough to refuse her.”

 _That’s my fear_ , Jaime thinks as he gives Luwin another charming smile and knocks on Grand Maester Pycelle’s door.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime barely sees Brienne for the next three days but Princess Arianne spoke true:  no one is ever truly alone in King’s Landing.  He sets the few members of the Kingsguard he trusts to watch over Brienne from afar and thinks if Ser Gregor Clegane is lurking round King’s Landing, there is no place such a monstrous man can hide:  the Mountain that Rides would not only be noticed but remarked upon.

Still, he needs must be careful.  He does not want to raise eyebrows by asking too many questions.  Ser Gregor is House Lannister’s bannerman, after all, and the very suggestion Ser Gregor could be in King’s Landing without paying his respects to his Lord and his King would be all that is needed to start tongues wagging.

There must be no speculation or suspicion cast on who fathered Cersei’s babe, and the rumors of Jaime’s affair with Cersei are rampant throughout the Seven Kingdoms.  Even Brienne remarked on it on their wedding night.

The last night he spent with Cersei.

He shakes his thoughts away.  He needs must be careful not to start the tongues wagging.  The gods only knew where the gossip might lead.

*/*/*/*/*

He needs must be careful, he thinks again that night as he tries the door to Brienne’s bedchamber and finds it once more locked.  _Brienne_ needs must be careful, but he can’t warn her if she refuses to speak to him.

*/*/*/*/*

The following morning, Jaime finally catches Brienne in the training yards before she and Sandor Clegane disappear into whatever hidden corner of the castle they’ve decided to use for their sparring sessions the last few days.

“Princess Brienne,” Jaime calls as he steps out of the armory.

She startles, giving him a wide-eyed, almost guilty look and his eyes narrow.  He glances at Sandor and thinks he’ll cut the man to ribbons if he’s laid a finger on Brienne.  He returns his gaze to Brienne to find she’s now giving him a defiant glare, her homely face haughtily proud, her chin lifted high.

“Prince Jaime,” she says, so cold and distant Jaime wonders if he only dreamed their afternoon at the pond.

He turns to Sandor.  “I shall spar with Her Grace today, Clegane.  You may leave us.”

Sandor glowers at him then glances at Brienne.

Brienne’s own glower is angry enough that Jaime should have been dead on the spot, and he almost feels amused.

She nods at Sandor.  “Thank you, Sandor.  Tomorrow.”

Sandor bows, shoots Jaime a deeply suspicious glare and leaves.

They ready themselves in silence then Jaime turns to face his erstwhile bride and hefts his sword, his lips curved in a mocking smile.

“Come now, Your Grace,” he says.  “You’ve been angry enough to lock your door against me these last three nights; here’s your chance to batter me to my knees, if it will make you feel better.”

Beneath her half-helm, Brienne’s mouth sets into mulish lines then, with a growl, she attacks.

*/*/*/*/*

The bloody man is _good_ , Brienne thinks some time later.  Sweat stings her eyes as she’s forced to retreat, parrying blow after lightning-quick blow.  She knew of his skill, of course, even before they crossed swords on the battlefield.  _Everyone_ has heard tales of Prince Jaime Lannister’s skill with a sword.

She blocks another blow and takes advantage of a slight opening to steal the offensive, and now he’s the one dancing away from her sword, laughing as he does so.

The laughter angers her and she redoubles her efforts.

He leaps back, laughs again, and calls, “Are you simply going to beat my head in, Brienne?  Or do you wish to hear my explanation?”

She grits her teeth.  “There’s nothing to explain,” she growls and rushes him, tackling him and knocking them both into the dirt, swords skidding away from their hands.

“Not about the child,” Jaime pants before he reaches up and yanks off her half-helm.

She yelps and rolls off him, scrabbling for her sword.  Jaime’s on his feet and waiting for her by the time she spins to face him and she sees he, too, has torn off his helm.

“You’re mad,” she snarls, and Jaime laughs again.

“Mayhaps—but I haven’t seen your face for this long is almost four days, Brienne, and I could no longer stand that helm in the way.”

She blinks and almost fails to block his next blow.

Then there’s only the sounds of their swords clashing, the clank of their armour, their grunts with each blow, and their ragged breathing.

Beneath it all, beneath her hurt and rage, beneath the need to _win_ , is a growing...she falters and Jaime almost disarms her before she catches herself.  As they continue battering each other round the training yard, Brienne thinks of the afternoon at the pond, of the recent nights in her bed, and there’s no denying that even weighed down with padded leather and armour and a shield, the man— _curse him_ —is graceful and beautiful, despite—or mayhaps because of—a bruised cheek, his mouth gaping open as he gasps for air, his  soaked with sweat, and she _wants_ —

She wants to _win_...and she desperately wants to _fuck him_ after she wins and she even more desperately wants to mark him somehow, to claim him as hers and know he will never be with another woman.

Stupid, she thinks, panting as they circle each other, glaring, and then his eyes widen and she knows he sees it, sees her lust, and his gaze darkens and burns, and almost without thought, they both drop their swords and shields and are in each other’s arms.

*/*/*/*/*

A half-noticed door reveals a dusty storeroom, lit only by the sun streaming through a window high in the wall.

They hastily jam the door shut and then they’re on each other, their clanging armour loud in the small room.

“Fuck,” Jaime growls as he hastily pulls at his buckles and laces, “get out of those breeches, or I’ll rip them off.”

Brienne’s already pulling at her own buckles and laces, and for the first time in her life, she curses the fact she’s wearing breeches.

Then Jaime’s pressed against her back—hot and hard and she _aches_ —his hands slide between her legs, his questing fingers make her cry out, her knees almost buckle as she desperately pushes her breeches and smallclothes down to her ankles

“Gods,” he growls in her ear then to her surprised confusion, he bends her over, forcing her to brace herself with her hands flat on the bench in front of them.  His hands bruise her hips as he holds her steady and she cries out again as he drives into her, easing that ache.

He uses one hand to stroke between her thighs while the other holds her hip as he moves inside her.  She cries out again, more loudly, as she eagerly meets his thrusts with her own.  Tension builds within her as the world narrows to the feel of Jaime’s mouth against her neck, his hot breath ghosting against her skin, his fingers on her hips or stroking between her legs, his cock moving inside her.  She screams as her body suddenly clenches and her vision turns white with pleasure as Jaime growls out his own release against her shoulder.

Brienne is trembling, her legs weak as the last of her pleasure fades away, and both she and Jaime slowly, carefully, sink down on to the dusty floor.

*/*/*/*/*

They return to their apartment, dishevelled and dirty and bruised.  They have some time before they needs must appear in the Throne Room, so Jaime calls for hot water and the largest tub the servants can find.  Then he and Brienne strip down and, after some manoeuvring, they fit themselves into the bath, Brienne sitting in front of him, her back pressed against his chest.

He wraps his arms round her, presses a kiss against her shoulder, and says, “I know you’re still angry with me.”

Brienne’s body tenses against him.  “It happened before we struck our bargain,” she mutters.

“Doesn’t mean you’re not angry.”

“No.”

He tightens his arms round her.  “She’s very far away,” he murmurs.

“With your child,” Brienne whispers.

He sighs and buries his face against her shoulder.  “If it is indeed my child,” he replies.

Brienne twists to glare over her shoulder at him then rolls her eyes.  “Please,” she says.

His arms tighten round her.  “Cersei lies,” he says.  “I ask that you always remember that:  _Cersei lies_.”

*/*/*/*/*

They have no more time alone together until that night, when they return to their apartment.  Once there, Brienne rather shyly takes Jaime’s hand and leads him to her bedchamber.

He refuses to allow her to douse the lanterns and to her surprised happiness, she finds the same pleasure in her bed as she discovered in the storeroom.

Afterwards, Jaime pulls the blankets over them, curls round her and falls asleep.

*/*/*/*/*

Sometime in the night, Jaime wakes her with coaxing hands and mouth, and she shudders her release against him with a soft sigh and even softer kisses.

*/*/*/*/*

As they walk back to their apartment the next morning after Brienne’s morning sparring session with Sandor, Jaime says, “Do you always wear your armour and sword when you leave the Red Keep?”

Brienne frowns.  “Most of the time, yes,” she says.  “Why?”

Jaime hesitates.  He hasn’t been able to find any sign of Ser Gregor or his men.  Mayhaps the man really did have to return to Clegane Keep to take care of family business.  Mayhaps he read too much into Cersei’s words.

 _Cersei lies_ , he reminds himself.  _She especially lies when she wants to control me._

“There have been some rumors of unrest brewing in the city,” he says.  “It would ease my mind if you would go about your day armed and alert.”

Her bottomless blue eyes are puzzled as she blinks at him.  “All right,” she says and he knows he’s confused her.

He can only nod.  “Good,” he mutters.

*/*/*/*/*

Over the week or so, there continues to be no sign of Ser Gregor Clegane and his men.  As Maester Luwin departs for the Citadel a fortnight after his arrival in King’s Landing, Jaime finally allows himself to relax.

He continues to encourage Brienne to wear her armour and sword until she finally reminds him with a puzzled scowl that she was a Lord Commander of an army and has faced far more dangerous foes than some disgruntled smallfolk.

He softens at that and lets it go.

*/*/*/*/*

Arianne Martell looks up and smiles as Brienne walks into the solar.

“Thank you for joining me, Brienne,” Arianne says.

“Your note sounded very formal,” Brienne says with a puzzled smile as she sits across from her friend.

“I’m afraid it is.  I’ve received a message from my father.  He’s asked me to return to Dorne.”

Brienne’s heart sinks.  “Oh.”

Arianne reaches out and takes Brienne’s hand.  “You have been a true friend to me, Brienne.  I pray the friendship we’ve forged will not fade once I am far away and absorbed with the needs of my own realm.”

“No, no, of course not,” Brienne hastily says and forces a smile.

“Good.”  Arianne leans back on her seat and grimaces.  “My father has arranged a marriage for me.  I needs must return and meet my proposed groom.”

“And if he is not to your liking?”

Arianne shrugs.  “I will not be the first Princess to marry for the good of the realm.”  She suddenly smiles.  “If the gods are kind, I will be as lucky with my husband as you have been with yours.”

Brienne blushes.  “Prince Jaime is sweet to look upon, ‘tis true,” she murmurs.

Arianne bursts out laughing.  “Well said, Brienne, but I don’t believe it is his looks that have had you glowing these last weeks.”

Brienne’s blush deepens as she ducks her head in a vain attempt to hide her sudden smile.

Arianne laughs again, clapping her hand with glee.  “I am pleased for you, Your Grace, and hope I will be as fortunate.”

“It is still not a love match,” Brienne says quickly.

“Happiness in the bedchamber does much to build a strong marriage, or so my father has told me.”  Arianne stops and sighs.  “I will be leaving in three days, Brienne.”

“I shall be sorry to see you go,” Brienne says sadly, “but I will wish you happy and pray we shall meet again.”

Arianne gracefully stands and holds out her hands to Brienne.  When Brienne lumbers to her feet, Arianne rises on her toes and presses a kiss to first one then the other of Brienne’s cheeks. 

“We shall certainly meet again,” Arianne says firmly.  “The Martell marriage to a Targaryen did not end well, but mayhaps a Martell-Lannister alliance will fare much better.”

Brienne blinks at that then slowly smiles.  “Mayhaps,” she says.  “I also need heirs for Tarth.”

Arianne’s laugh is genuinely amused.  “That would be even better,” she says.

*/*/*/*/*

Arianne leaves three days later and Jaime watches her go with mixed emotions.

On the one hand, she’s a Martell and therefore cannot be fully trusted.  On the other, she seems to be a true friend to Brienne, kind to her even when he is not, and for that, he will always be grateful.

Brienne looks crestfallen as she stands beside him and he turns to her.

“You look sad, Your Grace,” he says.  “Would you like to spar?”

Brienne frowns at him, her magnificent eyes puzzled.  “Sandor is on duty now,” she says.

He raises an eyebrow.  “I was suggesting with me.”  He leans closer.  “That storeroom is still there, I believe.”

She blushes a bright red even as her eyes darken.

Then she nods.

*/*/*/*/*

They only speak of Cersei when King Tywin mentions her name.  Brienne sometimes feels guilty, carrying Jaime’s secret as if it were her own.

Of course, in some ways, it _is_ her own.  He is her husband, he will someday be her King, and the realm has bled far more than enough already.  Whether an accident or deliberate, the truth of the babe cannot be changed and if they all stay silent, chances are no one will ever know for certain.

Her own marriage grows easier each day.  Jaime now more often than not spends the night in her bed, his body warm and comforting beside hers.  It still startles her sometimes when she wakes in the night to find another person beside her.

She truly enjoys the beddings now and almost hopes she will not fall pregnant for a long time so Jaime will have to stay in her bed.  Whenever she begins to think like she reminds herself of their bargain:  two sons.  Two sons and done, no matter how much pleasure she now finds in his arms.  That was their bargain and she will not break her word.

And oh, she shall miss him when he leaves...which is reason enough to enjoy what time she will have with him all the more.

*/*/*/*/*

The next three weeks are busy but calm, and while Jaime is expecting another missive from his sweet sister at any moment—especially since he has not responded to her note—he pushes thoughts of Cersei and her babe to the back of his mind.  She is in the North, and a Queen—or at least she’s a Queen for as long as King Eddard lives.  While Jaime knows she will never entirely give up her hold on him, he hopes that the babe and her duties and the distance between them will finally give her cause her to loosen her grip.

He hopes that when or if he ever see her again, he will only see his sister and not his lover.

*/*/*/*/*

In the three weeks since Princess Arianne’s departure, Jaime finds himself observing Brienne ever more closely as she grows into her role as Princess and future Queen.  She treats her ladies-in-waiting and, indeed, all the high-born at court, kindly, although he still worries she is too naive when it comes to playing the game of thrones.  But she asks his father shrewd and difficult questions every day after they attend him in the Throne Room and hear the petitions of high-born and smallfolk alike.  She asks Jaime even more difficult questions about the army and the state of the realm outside King’s Landing.

Summer is almost over when Jaime finds himself with unexpected time on his hands.  His father is out of the city, hunting stag with Lord Stokeworth, so Jaime seeks out Brienne and invites her to ride out to the army camps with him.

They’re strolling towards the stables, comfortably discussing their growing concerns about the fates of former soldiers who are beginning to crowd into the streets of Flea Bottom, when they hear Jaime’s name called.

They turn to see Grand Maester Pycelle, his round body jiggling as he runs to catch up to them.

He reaches them, puffing.

“A raven has arrived from Stokeworth, Your Grace,” Maester Pycelle says, his chins trembling. “The King is dead.” He clumsily kneels as he stares up at Jaime.  “Long live the King.”

*/*/*/*/*


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings1:** Violence and blood—much more than my usual fade-to-black but not overly graphic, I don’t think. _HOWEVER, it’s going to be disturbing and it’s meant to be._ This is a dark universe and there will be things that are grim and messed up. Please, please, please read responsibly.
> 
>  **Warnings2:** Jaime Prime is an idiot, but I love him anyway.

  ***/*/*/*/***

_Brienne looks at Jaime’s shocked, grief-stricken face and puts a tentative hand on his shoulder._

_“It’s not your father,” she says._

_“I know,” he says, “but it’s still...”  He shakes his head and rubs his face then pulls off his skull cap and carefully lays it on the desk.  He gives her a half-smile and gets to his feet.  “Now it’s my turn for a walk.”_

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime returns with coffee and an apologetic smile._

_“Not sure why that one bothered me so much,” he mutters as he once again pulls on his skull cap and checks the equipment._

_“It was a shock,” Brienne says, gratefully sipping at the coffee.  “Well, at least this is the last run of the experiment in this universe.”_

_Jaime grimaces and gives her a worried look as the computer pings to announce the generators are back at full power.  “Thank gods,” he says fervently, and hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Ravens fly to every corner of the Seven Kingdoms while Jaime flies to Stokeworth.

He stands in that castle’s sept and looks down at his father’s body.  The silent sisters have already washed the King and wrapped him in clean linens and Jaime stares and tries to see the man who had been alive only yesterday, passing judgment on his subjects.

While the silent sisters finish preparing King Tywin’s body and the Kingsguard wait to carry his body to the funeral carriage, Jaime seeks out Lord Stokeworth.

“What happened?” he asks.

Lord Balman gulps as he meets Jaime’s cold gaze.  “We—we were hunting, Your Grace—I mean, Your Majesty.  The forest is teeming with game, and the dogs were leading us a merry chase.  We decided on a friendly wager, a bottle of the finest Arbor Gold to the one who captured the largest stag.  We separated so there would be no doubt as to who had bagged the largest animal.  That was yesterday.”

“ _Yesterday?_ ”

Lord Balman nods.  “I returned, but the King did not.  We sent out search parties but only found him early this morning.”  He gulps again.  “His horse was gored, Your Gr—Majesty.  Most likely a wild boar, from what we could tell.”  He grimaces.  “Wolves had already made a meal of the horse.”

“But not my royal father’s corpse?” Jaime demands coldly.

Lord Balman glances away.  “The silent sisters are skilled in camouflage, Your Majesty.”

To Jaime’s surprise, his stomach roils.  He, who had seen enough carnage and blood, severed limbs and spilled guts to last several lifetimes, and yet the very thought of _wolves_ dining on his father’s flesh—

He blinks the images away.

“You believe the boar gored my sweet father as well?”

Lord Balman shakes his head.  “The King’s head was bashed in, Your Majesty, likely from being unseated when the horse was attacked.”

Jaime frowns.  Unlikely, he thinks, but not impossible, and with his sweet father’s penchant for hunting alone, there is no one to dispute Lord Balman’s version of events.  Not that Lord Balman has any reason to lie or to harm the King.  He had been one of King Tywin’s most loyal bannermen, which is why the King allowed him to take the title of Lord Stokeworth when Lady Tanda Stokeworth died and her daughter, Felyse, became Lady Stokeworth.  Jaime doubts the man would resort to murder simply because he would have preferred to be known as Lord Byrch instead.

No matter.

Lord Balman has been nothing but loyal these last years, even during the worst of the war.  There is no reason to doubt his word now.

“Thank you, Lord Stokeworth,” Jaime says.  “The respect you have shown my sweet father will not be forgotten.”

Lord Stokeworth’s relief is palpable as he bows.  “Your Majesty.”

*/*/*/*/*

Ravens fly back to King’s Landing from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms.

While Jaime stands vigil over his sweet father’s corpse lying in state in the Great Sept, Brienne works with the castellans and the High Septon, the Small Council and her ladies-in-waiting to arrange the coronation ceremony and related pageantry.  A raven arrives from Tarth, words of condolence and encouragement from her father, including the news he would be leaving for King’s Landing that very day.

Her heart leaps at the thought of seeing her father again so soon, although she fervently wishes it were under different circumstances.  She did not expect—nor did she wish—to be Queen so soon.  King Tywin was a hard man, a brutal man, an implacable and deadly foe and an even more frightening ally, but she cannot deny he was also a strong King.  She can’t help but wonder if the fragile peace King Tywin forged with King Selwyn, bought with her body and Jaime’s, will last.

She steps into the Great Sept and sees Jaime standing tall and proud at the foot of King Tywin’s bier, his hands wrapped round the hilt of the great sword propped in front of him.

Brienne bows her head to the Stranger then places the food and drink she’s carrying on the pew immediately behind Jaime.  She puts a tentative hand on his elbow.

He looks, unsmiling, at her.

She tilts her head towards her offerings then squeezes his arm and leaves without a word.

*/*/*/*/*

The Red Keep fills almost to bursting with lords and ladies from all corners of Westeros.

Ser Gregor Clegane—the Mountain that Rides—arrives on the sixth day, bearing a message from Queen Cersei, naming him as her official representative at both the funeral and the coronation.  King Eddard is once again feeling ill, Ser Gregor tells Brienne in his deep, surprisingly soft voice that sends chills down her spine, and, of course, Queen Cersei does not wish to risk her unborn child by travelling so far so quickly. 

Not that they would arrive in time anyway, Brienne thinks as the Mountain leaves the Throne Room.  Even her own father may not arrive in time for the coronation if the winds choose not to cooperate with his ships.

*/*/*/*/*

King Tywin’s funeral rites are performed on the seventh day after his death.

After all the prayers are said and all the song are sung, King Tywin is consigned to the crypts below the Red Keep and Jaime finally plods to the King’s apartments where he strips himself of his armour for the first time in a week, and collapses into bed.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne tells him of the plans for the coronation the next morning at breakfast, and also of Ser Gregor’s arrival and his role.

She pauses, chewing on her bottom lip,  then says, “He mentioned he has a private message from your sweet sister for you.”

He nods, his mouth pinched tight.  “I have no doubt he does,” he mutters.

“I know this has all happened much sooner than we expected,” Brienne says, hesitant, “but you are King Tywin’s heir.  You almost seem...resentful that you needs must now take the throne.”

Jaime’s lips grow tighter.  “I never wanted to be King,” he says.  “I hoped my father would never die, or, rather, that I would die before him.  Let my son or daughter rule in my stead.”  His sudden smile is bitter.  “I have no doubt any child of mine would be a better ruler than I.”

Brienne frowns.  “You are no more dishonorable than any other man who fought in that endless war.”  She thinks of Ser Gregor and grimaces.  “And better than some.”

“Have you forgotten my sweet sister?”

“If only I could,” Brienne snaps, “and if I could change your past, I would.  Is that why you are so angry, Jaime?  Because Cersei is not here to comfort you?  Or is it because she is not your Queen?”

Jaime stares at her, his expression unreadable.  “Neither,” he finally says.  “I’m angry at my father for being so foolish as to get himself killed this way.  I’m angry that I now must take on a role I have never desired to have.  I’m angry that of everyone Cersei could have chosen, she chose _Ser Gregor Clegane_ to carry her condolences to us.”

Brienne understands the last.  The Mountain that Rides is as notorious for his cruelty as Jaime is for his skill with a sword.

She says, “Ser Gregor told me he was at Clegane Keep dealing with a minor matter when the news arrived.  Queen Cersei chose him because he was already here.”

Jaime’s smile is mocking.  “Convenient.”  He leans forward, his green eyes boring into hers.  “Promise me, Brienne, that you will go nowhere without at least two Kingsguard in attendance.”

Brienne’s eyes widen.  “Are you suggesting Ser Gregor would do me harm?  For what reason?”

Jaime looks down and his lashes are long and thick against his cheeks.  Then he looks up at her again and says, “‘Tis not Ser Gregor who worries me,” he says.  “My sweet father held this kingdom together through fear and sheer force of will.  If there are still Houses who oppose a Lannister regime, now would be a good time to launch a rebellion.”  His smile is thin.  “Be wary, Brienne.  That is all I ask.”

*/*/*/*/*

The coronation takes place seven days after King Tywin’s funeral.  The Red Keep is filled almost past bursting as ever more lords and ladies arrive from far and wide.  Brienne’s disappointed her father is not able to arrive in time and that Princess Arianne is not able to return.

Despite her personal disappointments, the smallfolk and high-born alike seem to enjoy the pageantry and spectacle, and she allows herself a moment to feel proud that everything is going as planned.  But as Brienne watches the crown be placed on Jaime’s proud head, a chill runs through her.

She suddenly has a sick feeling that this is going to change _everything_.

*/*/*/*/*

There is feasting and celebrations for the next three days, culminating on the last day with a tourney.  Jaime and Brienne sit side by side, watching the contests.  He glances at her and catches an almost melancholy look on her face.

She seems to feels his eyes upon her because she turns and frowns at him.

“You wish you were down there, don’t you,” he says with a conciliatory smile.

Her mouth curves upwards.  “Aye.  As do you.”

He grins at that.  “Better down there than up here.”

Her own smile grows.  “On that at least, Your Majesty, we most definitely agree.”

*/*/*/*/*

That night, he fucks her for the first time since his father died—slowly, carefully, as if she were some delicate thing that will break if he presses too much.  He brings her to her peak several times before he finally enters her and takes his own pleasure.

Afterwards, his head pillowed against her meagre breast while she strokes his head, the callouses of her hand catching on his hair, he thinks, _she’s not as soft as Cersei but far more fragile,_ and struggles against the urge to weep.

*/*/*/*/*

The third day after the tourney, the ships from Tarth finally arrive with their flags flying at half-mast.

Brienne watches as her father’s bannermen are ushered into their presence.  Her eyes flicker over Septa Roelle trailing behind the men, clad in a black septa’s robe, her hands slowly wringing as they pace the length of the Throne Room to at last stop at the foot of the steps leading to the Throne.

Jaime watches, silent, as Brienne straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin.

“How?” is all she says.

The bannermen exchange an embarrassed glance.

“We don’t know for certain, Your Majesty,” Lord Estermont says.  “We had stormy seas, ‘tis true, and your sweet father was well into his cups when he took to his bed with...”  He glances at Brienne’s stoic face and clears his throat. 

He had never been so careful about offending her when she wore armour and steel, she thinks bitterly, and wishes she did not have to wear a dress while holding court.  If she had a sword instead of the dagger hidden in her boot, she would put its point to Estermont’s throat and demand he forget the fact she’s Queen and simply _speak_.

Estermont says, “King Selwyn took to his bed with one of his whores.  In the morning, he was gone.”

She frowns, but says nothing, her eyes boring into Estermont’s.

He hastily continues.  “The whore was not long in King Selwyn’s cabin and the King was still alive when she left; he was heard bellowing at her to get out.  The King was then glimpsed on deck at the height of the storm but everyone was busy fighting the waves and the wind and the sails.  No one knows where or when or how he was knocked overboard.  All we know is in the morning, the King was gone.”

Brienne feels as if she’s carved from ice and wonders if this is how Jaime felt when he first heard the news of King Tywin’s death.

She watches, almost unseeing as the bannermen, one by one, kneel before them.

“Our King is dead,” Estermont says, turning to look at Jaime.  “Long live the King.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne spends seven days praying in the Great Sept for her father’s soul, and the second coronation that occurs the next day is much more subdued than the first.  Jaime insists they are both crowned this time, but the feasting is only for a day and there is no grand tourney at the end of it.

It doesn’t matter.  She’d much rather have had her father alive instead, big and booming and loving her in his own way.

The second coronation seems to weigh even heavier on Jaime’s shoulders than the first.  He is tense, unsmiling, more grim than usual, and that night, he practically clings to her although he hasn’t fucked her since the news of her father’s death.

“Will you tell me what’s frightening you so?” she whispers into the dark.

He shifts closer to her, burrowing his face against her shoulder.

“I am not frightened,” he says but there’s no heat in his words.

“Worried, then.”  She shifts until she’s looking into his eyes, barely visible in the light of the moon spilling into their bedchamber.  “I have heard no rumblings of rebellion, Jaime, yet you insist I go about with two Kingsguard at all times while you regularly go _without_ your Kingsguard.  If I am a target, then you are doubly so.”

In the semi-darkness of the room, she sees his firm mouth quirk into a slight smile, and has a sudden urge to run her finger across his lips.

He says, “I keep forgetting you are no ordinary high-born lady, Brienne, but also a Lord Commander, used to leading an army and identifying dangers at every turn.”

“This has to do with Ser Gregor, doesn’t it?  Would your sweet sister truly order my assassination?”

“My sweet sister would order anything that would get her what she wants.”

“And she wants you.”

“I thought once that was true, but what she truly desires is power and control.”

Brienne frowns as her mind races.  “Our fathers?”

Jaime closes his eyes and grimaces.  “I cannot see how.”

“But you fear it, nonetheless.”

His eyes are luminous in the moonlight spilling cross their bed, his handsome face even more handsome etched in light and shadow.

“Aye,” he whispers, “I fear it.”

She puts her hand on his cheek.  “And with them out of the way and you truly recognized as the Southron King, there is no more need for me.”

He closes his eyes and nods.

Brienne sighs.  “Then I shall suffer the presence of the Kingsguard, for your sake.  I had hoped to return to my morning sparring sessions with Sandor, but mayhaps I shall wait until his brother has departed once more.”

“If Sandor is willing, you should return to it if for no other reason than I feel more at ease when you’re clad in armour with a sword on your hip.  Mayhaps I should order you to wear such clothing at all times.”

Brienne’s smile is shy.  “Finally, an order I would not question nor argue against.”

He grins, and she kisses him before she realizes what she’s doing.

She pulls away, blushing furiously, remembering that ladies are not supposed to be so bold with their lord husbands.  “I—I’m sorry.  I didn’t—”

He stops her words with his mouth and pulls her against him.

*/*/*/*/*

In the morning, Jaime’s smile is smug and Brienne blushes then bounces a piece of bread off his forehead.

He laughs, and for a moment his beauty takes her breath away.

 _Two sons and done_ , she abruptly reminds herself.  _Even if he does not return to his sweet sister, he will not stay with you._

Her thoughts jolt her to another one.

“Mayhaps I should stop sparring,” she blurts.

Jaime frowns.  “What?”

“What if I am with child?”

He raises an eyebrow.  “When was your last moon’s blood?”

She blushes again.  “My moon’s blood has never been predictable,” she mutters, “probably because I am such a mannish woman.”

Jaime’s eyes and smile turn wicked.  “If we did not still have a castle full of guests and a bloody kingdom to rule, I would take you back to our bed and show you again just how womanly you truly are.”

Her eyes widen as her breath catches in her throat, then she shakes her head.  “No, no, we have duties, you’re right,” she mutters and Jaime’s laugh booms through their breakfast room.

“Do you wish me to stop sparring?” she says again.

“I will not make that judgment for you.  You are a Lord Commander as well as a Queen.  I hope you will exercise your arm only against training dummies if you suspect a child, but I will not demand it of you.”

Brienne frowns.  “Why would you be so generous?”

His smile is thin.  “Because you’re good.  You’re very good, in fact.  I find I cannot force myself to take that away from you.  But I will ask you to not take unnecessary risks.  The safety of the child—if there is one—is paramount.”

*/*/*/*/*

When Ser Gregor leaves King’s Landing two days later, Jaime has Qyburn, his Master of Whisperers, follow the Mountain and his men for several days as they travel the King’s Road towards Winterfell.  Still, Jaime doesn’t truly relax his vigilance until there’s been no sign of the Mountain or his men anywhere in or near King’s Landing for a fortnight.

He reluctantly agrees when Brienne says she no longer needs the Kingsguard trailing behind her every step.

*/*/*/*/*

It’s several days later when Brienne finds herself at loose ends.  Jaime is outside of King’s Landing, inspecting the army and meeting with his Lord Commanders.  Her meetings with the castellans have ended more quickly than expected.  She’s feeling achy and restless, confined by the skirts she’s wearing, and the thought of being trapped in a room with her ladies-in-waiting is suddenly too much to bear.

She heads to the training yards to batter a training dummy to dust and hopes that will ease this restlessness that is plaguing her.

She reaches the yards—empty, as is to be expected at this time of day—and strides purposefully towards the armoury.  She sees movement from the corner of her eye and startles enough for the blow to hit her head at an angle rather than dead on.  Still, she sees stars as she’s knocked off her feet, falling onto her hands and knees into the dirt.

She cries out in pain then looks round at her attacker.  She recognizes him immediately—no other man is so monstrously large.  Behind his half-helm, his mouth curves into a smile as monstrous as he is.

“How—?”

She howls as the toe of his boot connects with the pit of her stomach, lifting her off the ground and sending her rolling.  Her vision is red with pain as she comes to a stop, her legs tangled in her skirts.  She frantically tries to scramble away, hampered by the cloth round her legs, so she scrabbles at the seam at her waist.  Her fingers falter as she stares up at the giant slowly stalking round her.

 _He wants to make this last_ , she realizes, horrified, just as the seams give way and she rips her useless skirts off her.  She has time to roll away from the next kick and his foot instead catches her a glancing blow to the back of her hip. 

She bellows with pain and rage as she grabs a handful of dirt in one hand and finally regains her feet.  She bends double, aching from the blow to her stomach but reaches into her boot and pulls out the dagger hidden there.  When he sees it, the Mountain booms what she’s sure is supposed to be laughter. 

 _A dagger against armour_ , she thinks as she gasps for breath and forces herself to straighten, _but at least it’s something_.

He charges but her aim is true enough as she flings the dirt into his glittering eyes, blinding him for a precious moment.  His feet tangle in the remnants of her skirt and he stumbles and she uses the opening to dart round him and drive her dagger into the momentarily exposed sliver of flesh where his neck meets his shoulder.

He roars and she’s not quick enough to dodge his swinging arm.  It catches her in the face and she hears and feels a bone crack in her cheek as she’s again knocked off her feet, gravel scraping the bare skin of her thighs as she skids across the ground.  She blinks up at the man through streaming eyes as she scoots back before once again scrambling to her feet.

 _At least he knocked me in the right direction_ , she thinks as she turns and runs towards the armoury.  _A sword.  A sword, a shield, a helm, and then I will teach this bastard what it means to attack me!_

She hears him bellow again and she puts on speed—but his hand catches her in the middle of her back, shoving her face first into the armoury door.

She falls, dazed, blood pouring now from her nose and mouth and the gash across her forehead.  His boot hits her in the small of her back and this time she screams, a high-pitched, wailing sound even as she still tries to scramble away, her hands searching for something—anything—she can use as a weapon, only now she’s pressed against a wall with no place to go and no way to avoid his blows, which are coming faster now. 

The armoury door is _right there,_ she thinks, despairing, and is yet too far away.

Agony rips through her as he kicks her again.  The last thing she sees is the dagger still sticking from his shoulder and hopes she managed to fucking kill him even as he’s killing her.

*/*/*/*/*

“Your Majesty!  _Your Majesty!_ ”

Jaime curses as his youngest squire jumps in front of his horse as he canters into the Red Keep.  His destrier shies and rears, and he spends precious moments calming the great beast while trying not to kill the foolish boy.

He curses him as he dismounts.  “You could have been hurt!” he shouts.  “Or worse:  you could have lamed the horse!”

“That’s not important,” the boy, Hoster, he thinks his name is, cries.  “The Queen— _the Queen_!”

Jaime finally recognizes the stark terror on the boy’s face.

“ _What’s happened?_ ”

“The Queen—she’s been attacked!  They’re taking her to her bedchamber now!”

Jaime doesn’t wait to hear more.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime bursts into Brienne’s bedchamber, into a swirling, confusing mass of septas and maesters and blood and bruises and those glorious eyes closed and swallowed by her swollen face.

The room spins, fades, sways, and he’s vaguely aware of Pycelle hurriedly waddling towards him but all he sees is Brienne—

—Jaime blinks and sees computers and desks.

_“NO!”_

He jerks to his feet so quickly, he sends his chair spinning cross the room and then he sees Brienne—pale, eyes wide, but blessedly, gloriously unharmed.  He drags her from her chair, cups her face and kisses her, frantically, desperately, then he’s looking at her, touching her, running his hands over her arms and shoulders, before crushing her against him and kissing her again.

“Gods, gods, gods,” he mutters as he holds her as tightly as he can.  She buries her face in his neck and sobs, shuddering against him.

Jaime doesn’t know how long they stand there, nor does he care.  He’ll hold her forever if that’s what she needs.

Finally she lifts her head and pulls away.  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she says.  “It wasn’t _me_.”

He peers intently into her face then nods before he grabs the keyboard, typing furiously as he says, “We need to go back!  We need to go back _right now!_ ”

Brienne freezes in the act of wiping tears from her cheeks.  “Jaime, we can’t!  We’ve finished the experiments for that universe—if we go back, we’ll skew the data!”

“ _Fuck the data_!  This isn’t _about_ the data anymore!  You’re hurt and by all seven hells, if Prince Jaime doesn’t murder that son-of-a-bitch, then I’m going to leap into that universe and fucking do it for him!  _We have to go back_!”  Jaime finishes queuing up the experiment and Brienne grabs for his hand.

“We will— _we will_!  But the power— _we can’t hold a connection!_ ”

Jaime’s fingers smash the enter key _too much too fast connections flash slip past sliding falling flashing faster faster faster moments emotions lives there then gone faster faster faster lawyers coworkers teammates pirates soldiers pilots faster faster faster best friends enemies lovers always there always together faster faster faster laughing fighting fucking too much too much too much faster faster faster agony screams agony sapphires!_

_nothing_

*/*/*/*/*


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   Aftermath of violence.  Miscarriage and talk of miscarriage.  Again, not overly graphic but there is imagery and concepts that may be/will be disturbing.  Remember:  dark universe.  Please read responsibly.
> 
> **A/N:**   Well, this came together faster than expected.  Of course it helps that I’m cutting these last visit(s) into separate parts so I can update more quickly.  :)

 

***/*/*/*/***

_kwaah-kwaah-kwah……kwaah-kwaah-kwah……kwaah-kwaah-kwah_

She doesn’t know what’s making that noise.

She does know she wants it to stop.

*/*/*/*/*

_kwaah-kwaah-kwah……kwaah-kwaah-kwah……kwaah-kwaah-kwah_

She’s flat on her back on something flat and hard and cold.  The edge of something is digging into her right thigh, and something warm and heavy is on her left shoulder and chest, pinning her down.

*/*/*/*/*

_kwaah-kwaah-kwah……kwaah-kwaah-kwah……kwaah-kwaah-kwah_

She hurts.

She aches.

But it doesn’t seem... _physical_.  Her head—her _mind_ —feels overstuffed.  Overstretched.  Slowly pulsating, larger then smaller.  Like she’s just spent a month cramming for an exam or stayed up all night for days trying to develop a physics equation that solves everything.

She’s sore and she’s _tired_.

*/*/*/*/*

_kwaah-kwaah-kwah……kwaah-kwaah-kwah……kwaah-kwaah-kwah_

She slowly, hesitantly, opens her eyes and frowns at the dull, grey ceiling that meets her gaze.

Memories tumble through her mind, too many memories, too many feelings to sort out—where is she?  _Who_ is she?

She sits up in sudden panic, dislodging both what was digging into her leg and what was pressing against her chest.  The latter groans and she gapes, gasping for breath as she stares at him.

Golden hair.  Far-too-handsome-face.  Long, lean body, graceful even while unconscious.

_Jaime._

She leans over him, her hand on his chest.  She sighs with relief when she feels his heart beating strong and steady beneath her palm.  He may not be awake but there are no physical injuries as far as she can tell.

_kwaah-kwaah-kwah_

Although how he’s still unconscious with that fucking alarm going off—

— _alarm!_

She looks wildly round and sees computers—table—desk— _control room_ , she thinks, then closes her eyes as her panic ebbs and her focus returns to her slowly expanding-and-contracting head and now-roiling stomach.

She swallows down her nausea, opens her eyes once again and sees that what had been digging into her leg was the machine she was using to record her brain scans as they ran their experiments.

_Experiments._

She groans as a mix of Queen Brienne’s memories and her own overwhelm her, as well as that avalanche of memories gained over those seconds after Jaime, desperate, ran the experiment without enough power to hold a connection.

She reaches up and pushes off her skull cap, untangling herself from the wires that snake from the cap to the brain scanning machine.

_kwaah-kwaah-kwah_

Gods, she thinks as she struggles to her feet, if the electromagnetic barrier failed…

Jaime moans again as she shakily braces herself on the desk and blearily tries to make sense of the computer screens.

“Brienne?”  Her name is a pained groan dragged from his lips.

“I’m here,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at him.  She helps him to his feet, and they both lean on the desk, shoulders pressed together, holding each other steady.

Brienne’s head is clearing now as they anxiously peer at the computer screens.

_kwaah-kwaah-kwah_

“The generators lost too much power too fast,” Brienne mutters as she types in a few commands and codes and the alarms finally go blessedly silent.

“Oh, gods,” Jaime groans, “did I bring down the Wall?”

She doesn’t answer and they squint at the computer screens and gauges until they both understand what they’re reading and relax, almost toppling back to the floor.

“Looks like the Lannister luck still holds,” Brienne mutters.  “The EM barrier held and the Wall is still standing.”

Jaime frowns.  “Lannister luck?”

Brienne looks confused for a moment then grimaces.  “I think that’s from one of the universes we flashed through on our way to the floor.”

He hangs his head.  “I’m sorry.”

“Be sorry tomorrow.  Let’s run the diagnostics and then get back to Castle Black.  I want to puke and then pass out and I’d prefer to not do that here.  Again.”

*/*/*/*/*

It’s four a.m. when they finally stumble into Jaime’s suite.  It’s all they can do to collapse fully clothed onto the king sized bed in the master bedroom and tumble into sleep with Pod snuggled at their feet.

Their dreams are jumbled and vivid and confusing, scenes from the universes they’ve visited so many times mixing with the universes they flashed through in Jaime’s desperate attempt to return to Queen Brienne.  They each jerk awake at various moments and take comfort in finding the other beside them, safe and whole.

They wake in the early afternoon, feeling heavy and lethargic but also feeling once again anchored in their own bodies and own realities.

They’re more relieved than they like to admit.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne goes to her room to shower and change and to bring back more puppy pee pads for Pod.  By the time she returns, room service has delivered brunch.

By unspoken agreement, they don’t talk about the events of the night before while they eat, and then they take Pod to a dog park for a good, long run and play.

It’s not until they’re back in Jaime’s suite with the happily exhausted little dog sprawled in the middle of the room sleeping the sleep of the just that Jaime says, “About last night…”

“It was reckless and could have been catastrophic,” Brienne says flatly.

Jaime sighs and hangs his head.  “You’re right.  I know.  But that’s not why I need to apologize.”

She frowns.  “What?”

Jaime glances at her then away.  “I was trying to send us back and I didn’t think of what _you_ might be returning to.”

Her frown clears.  “I don’t think she’s dead,” she says.

“Well, she wasn’t when we lost the connection, but she’s badly injured and she might die during the next visit.”

“The next visit.”

“I’m going back.  Not tonight,” he hastens to add.  “I’m exhausted and my mind still feels…tender, if that makes sense.”

Brienne grimaces.  “It makes perfect sense.”

“I’ll go tomorrow night,” he says quietly, “and I want you to stay here.”

“Jaime…”

“I can’t…I can’t…I have to _know_.  But we can’t chance—if Queen Brienne dies while you’re connected to her…well.  Even if she doesn’t die, it’s bad enough you had to suffer through what happened to her let alone suffer through whatever the aftermath may be.”  He gives her a half-smile.  “You can stay here, have the run of the suite, use room service to order the most expensive items on the menu.  I’ll let you know what happened when I get back.”

For a moment she’s tempted.  She doesn’t _have_ to return to that universe, and Queen Brienne is alive but is it only for the moment?  She’s also been shying away from the memory of what Gregor did and the pain of it…but…

She sighs.

“Of course I’m going back with you,” she says firmly.  “Don’t you think I need to know what happens, too?”

“Brienne—”

“Jaime.  Please.  We’ve gone this far together; I’m not about to leave you to finish this alone.”

Jaime stares at her with an indecipherable look in his green eyes.  “You do realize this means no road-trip to Winterfell?”

“I know.”  Her mouth quirks into a smile.  “Pod is very disappointed.”

They both turn and look at the raggedy little dog, sleeping flat on his back with his back legs spread wide.  As they watch, his paws twitch and he snuffles a half-bark.

Their eyes meet.

“Obviously,” Jaime says solemnly and they share a slow grin.

*/*/*/*/*

_Jaime doesn’t give up trying to convince Brienne to stay in Castle Black, or to return there once they’re at the Wall.  Brienne simply rolls her eyes, shakes her head and ignores him._

_They’re not using the brain scans this time—although Brienne couldn’t use hers even if she wanted to.  Their tumble through universes apparently overloaded the machine._

_They power up the generators and queue up the experiment, and when everything is ready, Jaime turns to Brienne and says, “You should leave. Please, Brienne.  Don’t take this risk.”_

_She lifts an eyebrow.  “And have you call me coward in the small part of the Samwell Prize acceptance speech I’ll let you read?  Never.”_

_Jaime’s smile is slight.  “There isn’t going to be a Samwell Prize.  Not for this.”_

_Her smile is slow and sweet.  “I know.”  She hesitates then puts her hand over his.  “But I need to know, too,” she says.  He almost desperately grips her fingers as she hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

The room spins, fades, sways, and he’s vaguely aware of Pycelle hurriedly waddling towards him but all he sees is Brienne—

“Your Majesty!” Pycelle says with an obsequiously worried smile.  “You need to leave us to our work.  You’ll only be in the way.”

“Will she live?”

“King Jaime—”

“ _Will she live?_ ”

Pycelle and the pinch-faced old septa from Tarth. who had hastened to follow the Grand Maester to meet Jaime at the door, both flinch back at his shout.

“It’s in the gods’ hands,” the septa says—Rhaelle?  Something like that, Jaime thinks dimly as he strains to catch another glimpse of his wife.  The room is still pulsing round him, almost rhythmically, like a heartbeat—

_This is madness_ , he thinks abruptly and shakes his head.

He glares at Pycelle and the septa (Ravella?) and growls, “Mayhaps it’s in the hands of the gods but the only hands I see in front of me are yours and the Grand Maester’s, and those will be the hands I will cut off if she dies.”

“Y-your Majesty,” Pycelle says, gulping, “it’s too soon to know if we have any hope of saving her.  I haven’t had an opportunity yet to fully assess her injuries.  You cannot seriously mean to—to—”

Jaime barely hears him as he stares at Brienne and sees the septas and the novice maesters have finally stripped her of her blood-stained smallclothes.  A septa presses a square of clean white linen against the blood-soaked hair at the juncture of Brienne’s thighs and he watches as the material almost immediately turns red.  The deep purplish-black bruises that cover Brienne’s stomach strike him as particularly obscene when seen against the backdrop of her freckled skin.

Jaime forces his attention back to Pycelle and the pinch-faced septa.

“Who can tell me what happened?” he barks.

Pycelle’s chins quiver with panic.  “Sandor Clegane raised the alarm.”

“Where is he?”

“He said he was remaining in the training yards,” the septa (Rhaena?) says, “at least until the Kingsguard could arrive to relieve him.”

Jaime frowns.  “The Kingsguard?  Relieve him?”

“He’s standing guard over the body.”

Jaime feels as if he’s carved from ice, unable to feel, unable to move.  Then he gives himself a shake and takes one last look at Brienne’s bruised and battered body.

“She best still be alive when I return,” he growls then spins round and leaves the room.

*/*/*/*/*

Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, straightens as Jaime stalks into the training yards.  Selmy murmurs an order to his knights who discreetly fade back, leaving Selmy and Jaime staring down at the monstrously huge body.  Blood has soaked the ground beneath its obviously smashed head.  Jaime half-notices the dagger sticking from the juncture between the man’s neck and shoulder.

“Did the Queen do this?” Jaime demands.

Ser Barristan shakes his head.  “Sandor Clegane heard the Queen’s screams.”  He nods towards a great blood-stained war hammer, lying casually beside the body.  “He didn’t bother to face his brother honorably,” Selmy says, disapproval dripping from every word, “but instead attacked him from behind.”

Jaime’s face is etched in harsh lines as he turns his glare from the dead Mountain to the still-living Ser Barristan.

“Sandor Clegane saved the Queen’s life,” Jaime growls.

“For the moment.”

Jaime’s hands clench into fists.  “He saved the Queen’s life—whether ‘tis only for the moment or no is of no matter—and he managed to destroy the threat against her once and for all.”

Selmy’s eyes are cold.  “Did he?”

Jaime’s smile is thin and cruel.  “The immediate threat, then,” he says.  “Does _that_ satisfy you, Ser Barristan?”

“What are you going to do?” Selmy says, his own voice harsh and cold.

“Besides rethink the leadership of my Kingsguard?” Jaime snarls and takes vicious pleasure at seeing Selmy’s judgmental expression falter.

Jaime returns his attention to the body at his feet and sneers.  “Take this creature to the black cells and lock it inside.”

“He’s dead, Your Majesty!”

“He is the Mountain that Rides.  Lock him in a cell in case he’s monstrous enough to rise from the dead.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime returns to Brienne’s bedchamber to find his Queen cleaned and bandaged, dosed with milk of the poppy, and sleeping as peacefully as can be expected.

He looks down at her, forcing himself to take in every swollen portion of her face—to see and acknowledge every wound.  He turns to the septas.

“I want to see the rest.”

The septas look uncertainly at each other then at Grand Maester Pycelle.

“It won’t harm her,” Pycelle says with a nodding shrug.

“‘Tis indecent,” the pinch-faced septa from Tarth says.

“Septa,” Jaime grates out, “she is my sweet wife.  There is nothing I have not already seen.”

The old woman’s eyes are cold, her skin sallow, and he wonders how his Brienne managed with this woman as her childhood septa.

He turns to Pycelle.  “If it will not harm her, I wish Brienne to be moved to my bedchamber.  The bed is larger and more comfortable, and the room can be kept warmer.”

Pycelle’s chins quiver then he bows his head.  “It will not harm her, Your Majesty.  It shall be done.”

Jaime turns back to the bed.  The septas again exchange glances then one—young and sweet-faced with blue eyes almost as pretty as Brienne’s—steps forward and proceeds to gently reveal every bruise, every injury, every pain, every scratch, no matter how small.

Jaime forces himself to look at it all, to sear it all into his memory, to allow the truth of it to fuel his rage.

He looks at the juncture of Brienne’s thighs where he can clearly see the square of linen, folded and pinned to, and held in place by, her smallclothes.

He reaches out and lightly skims the tips of his fingers over the dark bruises that mar the perfection of her belly.

“There was no hope of saving the child,” Pycelle quickly says, wringing his hands together, “not after all that she suffered.  You should also know, Your Majesty…I will not be surprised if she is unable to carry a child to term after this… _incident._   You needs must take that into account in your plans for the future of your dynasty.”

“At least you have the most eligible daughters from every Southron House already at court,” the pinch-faced septa says.

Jaime lifts his gaze and meets the blue-eyed septa’s.  There must be something in his face because she catches her breath and startles back.  He straightens and turns to the old septa.  She, too, takes in his expression and catches her breath.

“Get out of my sight,” he says, his voice low and cold and hard.  “Both of you.  Get out of my sight before I forget you are a maester and a septa and I choke the life from you with my bare hands.”

They scurry away and Jaime turns back to the far-too-still figure on the bed.  He nods at the young septa to once again lift the blanket and warmly cover Brienne’s body.  As she does so, he gently, carefully, smooths Brienne’s hair away from the ugly gash that mars her forehead, then he leans down and brushes his lips against hers so lightly he barely touches her.

He straightens and walks out of the room without another word.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime sits on the Southron Throne, watching as Sandor Clegane enters the Throne Room.  They’re alone and Clegane looks both surprised and angry at this fact but he doesn’t look away as he strides forward.

Jaime waits until the larger man is standing at the foot of the Throne before he rises to his feet and slowly descends the stairs.  He stops on the last step so he is of a height with the man in front of him.

“You saved the Queen’s life,” Jaime says.

“Nah,” Clegane says, “I saved Lord Commander Brienne’s life.”

Jaime’s mouth twitches towards a smile.  “Yes,” he says.  “You saved Lord Commander Brienne’s life, and took your sweet brother’s life in the process.”

Clegane shrugs.  “His life wasn’t worth much anyway.”

Jaime’s jaw tightens.  “No,” he says, his voice harsh, “yet that does not make the decision to choose my Queen’s life over your sweet brother’s any easier to bear.”

Sandor shrugs again.  “Already forgotten.”

Jaime’s lips twitch upwards as he says, “Although you saved Brienne because she is Lord Commander and not because she’s Queen, she _is_ the Queen.  And my wife.  I owe you a debt that can never be repaid.”

“I didn’t do it for a reward,” Clegane growls, offended.

“I never thought you did, but a reward you shall have, whenever you wish to have it.  If you had not been there...”  Jaime clenches his jaw and swallows with difficulty.  “I was not there to protect her, and she was obviously attacked without warning and while she was unarmed or she would have been able to do more to protect herself.  I can only thank the Seven and every other god in the world that you were there in my—and her—stead.”

Clegane’s eyes narrow.  “You sound as if you give a shit if she lives or dies.”

“I do give a shit,” Jaime says, and clears his throat.  His gaze doesn’t waver.  “Do you know why your brother attacked the Queen?”

Clegane’s smile is cruel.  “You know why he did it,” he all but spits.  “You know who he serves.”

Jaime grits his teeth, almost staggering beneath the force of his rage.

“Aye,” he growls, “aye, I do know.  And I will deal with it.”

“Just like you’ll deal with me?”

“You I shall reward.  Do you want a lordship?  A castle?  An endless supply of wine?  A whorehouse full of whores who live only to serve you?”

Clegane’s smile is bitter.  “Forgive me, ser, but I shall wait to name my reward until after I’ve seen how you deal with the continuing threat to the Lord Commander.”

Jaime tilts his head in acknowledgement.  “Fair enough,” he says, “nor do I blame you.  If I ask for your assistance in dealing with that threat, will you give it?”

Sandor’s eyes narrow.  “For her sake,” he growls, “not for yours.”

Jaime’s half-smile is bitter.  “I would not expect anything else.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime returns to his bedchamber and consults with Pycelle and the septas on Brienne’s state.  Once he is assured there is nothing more they can do for her that night, he dismisses them all from his bedchamber and takes a chair beside the bed.

When did it change, Jaime wonders as he watches her sleep.  He can’t tear his eyes away from her face, almost desperately wishing she would open her eyes and see him.  When did it change?  He couldn’t say nor does it truly matter.  There is only one way forward now.

Jaime leans closer and once again gently brushes Brienne’s hair away from the gash on her forehead.  She stirs at the touch but doesn’t wake, and Jaime knows the milk of the poppy that Pycelle and the septas have fed her will keep her asleep through the night.  He should go to her bedchamber, he thinks, stroking a feather-light touch over the only piece of her cheek that appears to be unbruised.  He should go to her bed and leave her to sleep in peace.

She breathes his name in a sigh that’s almost as feather-light as his touch and he pauses, frowning.  He must have imagined it, he thinks, sitting back and gently clasping her hand in a comforting grip.

She breathes his name again, a little louder and with a wealth of fear and need in the word.  He blinks then hangs his head, trying to control his breathing.

He stands and loosens his clothes before slipping beneath the blankets and carefully curling round her, cautious of her injuries.  Even with a fire burning cheerfully in the hearth, he now realizes she’s periodically wracked with tiny shivers.  He moves closer and tells himself she relaxes against him, seeking his warmth.

His eyes drift closed and he falls into a light doze, afraid to sleep too deeply in case he were to inadvertently hurt her in his dreams.

As he hovers between waking and sleeping, Jaime feels something give way inside him.  Brienne is his wife, he thinks in his half-awake state.  She’s _his_ , and he will never allow her to be harmed like this again.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne drifts in comfortable darkness.

She knows she’s in pain, but the pain is a dull, throbbing ache and very, very distant.  It’s also familiar; it reminds her of mailed fists and a sword tip slicing into her face, and the weight of an armoured horse crushing her into the mud.

She doesn’t want to wake.  In her drifting, drugged state, she knows that when she does, the pain will be sharp and difficult to endure and the longer she can avoid that reality, the better.

There’s something else she wants to avoid, but if she doesn’t think about it, then it’s something that is just wind and not something she needs to acknowledge.

“Brienne.”

She turns her head a little towards the voice, yearning for something else she doesn’t want to think about yet.

“Brienne.”

The voice is luring her closer, but she’s safe in this darkness.  She doesn’t want to open her eyes and face the light.

“Brienne.  Please.”

She can’t ignore that voice anymore and her eyes flutter open.  Her vision is blurred yet he seems to be crystal clear:  golden hair, green eyes and his far-too-handsome face hovering over her.  She blinks.

“There you are,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumbling purr.  “‘Tis past time for you to wake.”

“No,” she mutters, her tongue thick and woolly.

His chuckle is soft and not unkind.  “Yes,” he says.  She feels his hand grasp hers and give it a comforting squeeze.  “Have no fear, Brienne, you will be safe when you wake, and you will have justice.”  His smile is cold although his hand is warm.  “I have already taken steps to ensure it.”

*/*/*/*/*


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   A little bit of violence and blood, but nothing graphic.  Rape mention.  Standard reminder that this is a dark universe with grim elements; please read responsibly.
> 
> **A/N:**   This chapter was more difficult to pull together than I expected.  But here it is:  the end of the Prince/Princess universe.  :)

  ***/*/*/*/***

_Brienne blinks and the control room returns into focus.  She turns her head and looks at Jaime, who gives her a half-smile and squeezes her hand._

*/*/*/*/*

_In silent agreement they don’t speak about anything that’s happened in the other universe.  They simply start recharging the generators and when the computers chime, indicating full power has been reached, they carefully lock hands and hit enter._

*/*/*/*/*

Time passes for Brienne in a blur of brutal memories and pain and milk of the poppy, of septas and maesters and Jaime, until finally she opens her eyes, her mind and body aching, to see two septas leaning over her:  a smiling blue-eyed young woman, and Septa Roelle, with her bitter eyes and pinched mouth.

Brienne blinks, frowns and mumbles through still-swollen lips, “What day is it?”

Septa Roelle tells her and adds, “You’ve been abed four days now, Brienne.”

Brienne frowns.

“The King ordered you be kept as free of pain as possible,” the young septa hurries to say, “and for you to rest.”

“And to keep you out of sight until the swelling went down,” Septa Roelle mutters, fussing with the blanket covering Brienne to her shoulders.

The young septa shoots the old one an indecipherable look before she turns back to Brienne with a comforting smile.  “What do you remember?” she asks, her voice kind.

“Enough,” Brienne mumbles through lips that don’t seem to want to work for more reasons than simply the drugs she’s been fed.  She closes her eyes and immediately tumbles back into sleep.

*/*/*/*/*

The next time she wakes, the room is dim, lit only by the fires in the hearths.  Jaime is curled round her; not closely enough to cause discomfort but sufficient for her to draw strength and comfort from his heat and bulk.

She slowly, painfully, shifts on to her side to face him and he immediately wakes.

They gaze deep into each other’s eyes before he carefully brushes the hair from her forehead and gathers her close.

*/*/*/*/*

When did it change, she wonders as she listens to the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek.  When did this man change from her enemy to the one she trusts most?

In the stillness of their bedchamber, with his arms round her, his hands soothing, she tells him what she remembers of the attack.

“If you had had a sword,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against her cheek, “I have no doubt you would have prevailed.”

“He still would have won, Jaime.”

“You would have managed to escape him long enough to seek help.”

She wants to laugh, but her face is still swollen and sore.

He says, “There’s something else you need to know before you hear it elsewhere.”

Her heart freezes in her chest, and faint memories surface.  She swallows heavily and says, “There really was a child, wasn’t there?”

Jaime’s fingers smooth gently against her shoulder.  “Yes.”

Brienne lets it sink in, lets it settle.  A babe, she thinks, a babe with their father’s beauty and both parents’ skill with the sword. 

A babe she will never see.

She sniffs back the tears that fill her still-sore eyes.

“There’s more,” Jaime says, slowly, his voice tight. “Grand Maester Pycelle does not know if you will be able to bear children after this.”

Now Brienne can’t stop the tears from seeping from her eyes.

_All you ever wanted was the strength in my belly_ , she thinks and allows herself to weep.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne is helped from her bed the next day by Septa Roelle and the sweet-faced young septa whose name, Brienne learns, is Tyene.  Brienne’s legs feel shaky and weak and she leans on both septas as she carefully paces the Royal apartment.

“I’ve put sheets over all the mirrors, Lady Brienne,” Septa Roelle says as they approach the sitting room.

Brienne wants to laugh at her old septa’s concern.

“I have been injured before,” she says mildly, “and far worse than this.”  She glances at Tyene.  “At least he only cracked my cheek and my nose.  Better than a broken leg.”

“You’ve had your leg broken, Your Majesty?” Tyene asks and she sounds honestly curious.

“Aye, when my destrier fell atop me in a battle.  I was lucky he did not break my spine.”

Roelle sniffs.  “You still have no understanding of what a lady should speak on, Brienne.  You are queen now; you needs must watch your tongue.”

“This is her first day out of her sickbed,” Tyene says, her gentle voice calm and soothing.  “Let her speak on her injuries, old and new.  There is no one to hear but us.”

Septa Roelle glares at the younger septa.

“I shall mind my tongue tomorrow, Septa Roelle,” Brienne says with a weary sigh.  “For today, just let me make it back to my bed under my own power.”

*/*/*/*/*

She naps then walks the apartment again and this time it’s easier.  Despite Septa Roelle’s protests, she pulls the sheet from the mirrors and considers her injuries.  Her face is still swollen, the bruises dark and livid. 

She turns away from the sight then sends Roelle on an errand to the kitchens, and asks Tyene for assistance.  With the young septa’s help, Brienne struggles out of her nightclothes so she can see all that was done to her.

She considers her injuries, then she slowly places her hands over the bruises on her belly.  She bows her head and says a quick prayer to the Mother and the Stranger.  There are tears in her eyes when she again lifts her head.

“‘Tis a pity about the babe,” Tyene says as she helps Brienne back into her nightclothes.

“Yes,” Brienne sighs, “and ‘tis even more a pity about all the future ones I’ve lost as well.”

“You haven’t lost them yet, Your Majesty, and not even Grand Maesters are skilled enough to know such things for certain.  For now, you need to worry only about healing from this cowardly attack upon your person, and let the future be what it is.”

*/*/*/*/*

That night, she tells Jaime she feels better and snuggles as close against him as her still tender body can bear.  She closes her eyes and drifts towards sleep and wonders why, despite everything, despite her lingering questions and fears, she feels... _safe._

*/*/*/*/*

As the days pass, Brienne begins to chafe at the restrictions of her healing body and Jaime’s request she rest as much as possible.

Brienne paces the apartment while Septa Roelle watches her with her mouth pinched even tighter and Septa Tyene watches with an amused expression.

“I don’t believe this is what the King meant by ‘rest’,” Tyene finally says as Brienne finishes her third circuit of her rooms.

Brienne snorts then winces at the small stab of pain that lances through her nose at the act.

Roelle sniffs.  “Still so careless even after all these years.  ‘Tis no wonder the small council has been urging the King to set you aside.”

The words hit Brienne harder than even the Mountain’s boot.

“Septa!” Tyene says, her voice sharp.  “The Queen is still not well enough to be bothered with the machinations of a few stupid men.”

“No,” Brienne says, just as sharply.  “Tell me what you mean.”

Septa Roelle peers uncertainly at Brienne before an odd, almost triumphant, expression crosses her face.  “The King has not shared that with you?”

“What the King and I share is of no import to you.  Tell me what you mean or stay silent in my presence.  I have no more patience for petty games.”

Septa Roelle’s eyes narrow.  “Since you ask so prettily,” she says, her voice as acidic as her expression, “the small council has been begging the King to make plans for when he sets you aside.  ‘Tis well-known yours is not a love match, and with King Selwyn dead and Jaime crowned as King of the Stormlands, there is no further need to maintain your farce of a marriage especially since you are unlikely to be able to bear a child.  It was the only reason for the marriage after all, although how they thought one such as you could be a mother in the first place...well, your sweet father never did want to see the truth of you.  No matter.  Some also believe Ser Gregor stole your honor and that, coupled with the fact you are almost certainly barren, has the small council advocating for the King to set you aside and choose a new bride.”

Rage blossoms red in Brienne’s vision.

“By the gods,” she grits out from between clenched teeth, “it’s only been ten days!”

Roelle spreads her hands wide and shrugs.  “You asked, Your Majesty.”

“And my royal husband?  What says he to these arguments?”

“King Jaime says only that his sweet sister’s child will be his heir as well as King Eddard’s and there is therefore no haste to determine your future now.  In fact, Queen Cersei and her husband are even now being asked to travel to King’s Landing so King Jaime may be one of the first to see the new babe’s face when it’s born.  I’ve heard Lord Sandor Clegane has been tasked with the honor of escorting them to King’s Landing as a reward for his bravery in saving you from his brother.”

The red mist in front of her eyes darkens and Brienne clenches her hands into fists.

“Thank you, Septa Roelle,” she manages to say with a reasonable amount of control.  “Leave me now.”

Septa Roelle bows her head and both septas stand and start towards the door.

“Septa Tyene, I wish you to stay,” Brienne calls.

Tyene glances at Roelle, who is shooting suspicious glares at both of them.

Roelle says, “Brienne…”

“I am no longer a child in a nursery, Septa Roelle.  I am the Queen.  Please.  Leave.  Now.”

Brienne can see Roelle grit her teeth but the older woman once again bows her head and gently closes the door behind her.

Brienne looks to Tyene and rises.  She latches the door then says, “Follow me,” and leads the septa into the dressing room that separates the King’s bedchamber from the Queen’s.

Brienne turns to Tyene and says, “I have no doubt there are ears in the walls even here, but at least we can pretend to have privacy.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“How much of what Septa Roelle said is true?”

Tyene pauses, her pretty face creasing with a frown.  “‘Tis true people believe Ser Gregor raped you.  You were found in only your smallclothes, your skirts torn away, and your loins were bloodied.”

“I ripped off my own skirts,” Brienne says flatly, “they were slowing me down.”

Tyene raises an eyebrow.  “Not many women would make such a choice,” she murmurs. 

“Not many women have led men into battle, septa.”

“Still, such a decision has led to speculation.  Everyone suspects you have been dishonored.”

“That doesn’t make it true.”

“It does make it more difficult to maintain the respect of the small council.”

“The small council should worry more about retaining _my_ respect.”

Tyene tries to suppress a smile and fails.

Brienne takes a deep calming breath.  “And the King?  What does the King say in response to these innuendos and demands?”

“More or less as Septa Roelle described.  He points out he will have another heir once Queen Cersei gives birth.  Where Septa Roelle’s description is faulty is that the King has made it clear he believes you have not been dishonored and he has no intention of setting you aside, barren or no.”  She leans forward, eyes intent on Brienne.  “This is all idle gossip, Your Majesty.  Once you are again about your duties, these whispers shall die away.  It is unfortunate you are no longer—”  She stops and bites her lip.

“Pregnant?  Do you think the whispers would die away or would they simply become louder as people wonder who fathered my child?”

Tyene sighs and leans back in her chair.  “You are right to question it, Your Majesty:  these whisperings are not natural.  They are being fuelled by more than just the normal gossip after such a thing as this.”

“Who, then, is still working against me?  And through me, against the King?”

“That, I do not know.”

The bright red band constricting Brienne’s chest eases ever so slightly then she frowns.  “How do you know all this?”

Tyene’s smile is beatific.  “Words are wind, Your Majesty, and are therefore in the air.  You can hear every word ever spoken if you only know how to listen.”

Brienne scowls as much as she can through her still swollen face, then says, “Since you know how to listen…I have a task for you.”

Tyene raises an eyebrow.

“Ser Gregor managed to remain hidden in this city—in this castle—until he saw an opportunity to strike.  Someone was helping him.  If words are indeed wind and therefore in the air, then I wish to know who it was and how many of them.”

“You know who is most likely,” Tyene says.

“Aye.  Qyburn is the Master of Whisperers and he is not so incompetent that the Mountain that Rides would have escaped his notice.  But are there others?”

Tyene bows her head.  “I shall see what I can discover, Your Majesty.”  She calmly meets Brienne’s gaze.

Brienne gives her a half-smile.  “Do not think me foolish, septa, trusting you with such a task.  I am neither naive nor gullible, and it may be to your benefit to remember that I will never forgive anyone who helped the Mountain take our heir away from us, or helps hide the guilty parties from my vengeance.  I will not forgive anyone who lies to me about them either.”

Tyene’s eyes widen.  “I will not lie to you, Your Majesty.”

Brienne nods and rises.  “Help me dress.  Breeches and gambeson and sword.”

Tyene rises as well, alarm writ large on her face.  “Where do you wish to go?”

“Why, to the King’s meeting with the small council, of course.”

*/*/*/*/*

It takes her longer than she likes to make ready and to walk to the small council room.  She had hoped to be there when the men arrived but instead she is outside, the door cracked slightly open, listening to Jaime argue with his advisors.

“I am sick of this debate, my lords,” Jaime growls.  “The Queen is only recently out of her sick bed, a sick bed we feared she would never leave!  Enough of this talk of setting her aside!”

“Everyone knows ‘tis not a love match,” Lord Randyll Tarly replies, “and no one will be surprised if you return her to Tarth and marry a more proper daughter of a great House.”

“Where is this animosity coming from, Lord Tarly?” Jaime snaps.  “You seemed to like her well enough before this incident.”

“She is a decent Queen, I’ll admit,” Lord Randyll says.  “My daughter is surprisingly fond of her and says it is the first time she’s enjoyed being a lady-in-waiting—no offense, Your Majesty, to your sweet sister.  But the only reason for your marriage was to unite the Stormlands with the rest of Westeros and to establish a new dynasty.  She’s brought you the Stormlands but without the possibility of a child then she is of no more use to you.”

“You are a short-sighted fool.  Do you think the Stormlands would sit and do nothing if I set aside their Queen?  They loved their Evenstar; they love his daughter.  They followed her in the field of battle as she held their armies steady against us for three years.  Your lack of foresight is a surprise, as my sweet father did not suffer fools gladly, or are you simply all he had available at the time?”

“Just because you dislike what we have to say does not make us fools,” Lord Mace Tyrell snaps.

“My sweet sister is with child,” Jaime says, “and that child will be my heir as well as King Eddard’s.  Mayhaps that is enough.  If that child inherits both the North and the South, then Westeros will be united as it once was, when the Targaryen kings sat the Iron Throne.”

“And that child would be a Stark, not a Lannister,” Lord Kevan Lannister says.  “What would your sweet father think of that?  You needs must remember the importance of your House.”

Brienne pushes open the door.  “Yes,” she says, more calmly than she feels as she strides inside, “the King must think of his House, just as I must think of mine.”

Jaime scrambles to his feet.  “Brienne!  You should be resting!”

She paces to his side, her hand resting comfortably on the hilt of her sword, taking almost perverse pleasure in the shocked looks on the councillors’ faces as they take in her injuries.

“I am not a wilting flower, Your Majesty,” she says, stopping beside him and turning to the watching men.  “I am the Lord Commander of the Evenstar’s army, and I am the Queen.”  She turns her glare on each man in turn.  “You seem to believe that if Jaime set me aside that I would have no choice but to go quietly.  I made a promise to my sweet father and to the people who followed him.”

“If you’re barren—” Lord Randyll begins, but Brienne lifts her hand to stop his words.

“ _If_!  You all seem unduly anxious to leap to that conclusion although it’s only been ten days since I lost the babe I was carrying.  Ser Gregor made a point of attacking my belly when he could have simply killed me outright.  He intended us to know he killed our babe, and now here you sit, trying to oust your Queen.”  She hopes her smile is grotesque when seen through her bruises and swollen flesh.  “You are all so anxious to remove me, I am beginning to wonder who else may have aided the Mountain in his attempt on my life.”

She’s pleased to see the men before her flush and squirm.  She paces slowly in front of them, her hand tightening on her sword.  “I will learn of all who was behind this attack on my person and I would like to remind you:  I am a kind woman, but an unforgiving enemy.”

She turns to Jaime and raises an eyebrow.  “Mayhaps we need to reconsider the membership of the small council.”

Jaime smirks.  “My thoughts exactly, Your Majesty.”  He glances at the men from the corner of his eyes then says, “Come, Brienne, let me take you to find some less rank air.”

She daintily accepts his arm and doesn’t look back as they sweep from the room.

*/*/*/*/*

“You’re mad,” he says with a half-laugh, half-sigh once they’re outside.

“Mayhaps,” she says, “but at least it gave me reason to leave our apartments.”

“You should go back and rest.”

“I’m sick of those walls,” she mutters and Jaime chuckles.

“Then far be it from me to force you back into such dull surroundings.  If you are sure you’re up to it, I’ll order a carriage.  Let us go for a ride through King’s Landing and let the smallfolk see their Queen still lives.”

*/*/*/*/*

They are escorted by the Kingsguard through the streets of the city.  The knights keep careful watch but are far enough away that Jaime and Brienne can speak privately even as they smile and answer the waves of the smallfolk.

Brienne realizes the air is already cooler than she remembers from the day she was attacked.  Even through the stench of the city she can smell that summer is fading and the taste of autumn is in the air.

Brienne lifts a hand in greeting to a group of gaping smallfolk then she sighs.

“As much as I hate to admit it, those buffoons are right about one thing, Jaime.  If I am barren—”

“You told them yourself it is too soon to know that,” he says, tilting his handsome head to two pretty young girls who blush and beam in response.  “Besides, we struck a bargain, you and I.  Two, in fact.  We promised our fathers we would unite the realm into one Southron kingdom, and then we struck our own bargain:  two sons.  Are you so craven you would break your word at the first suggestion of defeat?”

She glares.  “I may not be able to keep my word.”

“Does that mean you are not willing to try?”

She sighs.  “Of course not.”  She lifts her hand again to greet a smallfolk then turns to him.  “There is someone working against us, here in King’s Landing.”

“Aye, I know.  Why do you think I’ve brought all seven Kingsguard with us?  I’ve also ordered six food tasters, three for each of us.”

“What?  Why?  Cersei would not harm you!”

“Cersei desires power and control.  She is also my heir.  If I die before her, she inherits the Southron Throne in her own right.”

Brienne’s jaw slowly drops.

Jaime’s smile is thin and humorless.  “You should be flattered.  I suspect she tried to kill you first so she would not have to battle you for the Throne.”

“But her child—”

“If a boy, it will outrank her, true.  If a girl, Cersei would then take precedence.  If she’s even pregnant at all.”

“ _If_ —she cannot be the monster you make her out to be!”

Jaime’s sudden bark of laughter is harsh and cold and utterly humorless.

He says, “The truth of Cersei is as easy to grasp as smoke in your hands.  How much is real?  How much are lies?  What are actions actually taken and what are simply opportunities grasped?  The only thing I know for certain is that everything Cersei does is done to feed her own ambition.”

Brienne sits in silence as the carriage rumbles through the streets, chewing on his words and wondering what it all means.  It is too much for her at the moment so she sighs and turns her thoughts to something simpler. 

“ _Lord_ Sandor?” she says.

Jaime gives her a slight smirk.  “I see you have your own Master of Whisperers.  I gave him a lordship, although he did not wish it.  He doesn’t like the title but it was intended as a reward for saving your life.”

She huffs a chuckle.  “You’ve sent him to Winterfell?”

“Aye, along with his brother’s bones, a letter to the King, and half our army.”

“So you are not inviting Cersei and King Eddard to King’s Landing as your honored guests?”

“Gods, no!  She is to be brought here as my prisoner even if we have to tear down Winterfell’s walls to achieve it.”

*/*/*/*/*

The days pass in relative peace.  Brienne returns to her duties as Queen and she is both surprised and touched by the warm concern expressed by her ladies-in-waiting.  Whether the concern is sincere is a question she decides she does not need to consider.

Septa Roelle continues to whisper cruel rumors in her ear, rumors Brienne then turns to Tyene to confirm.  Brienne finds there is always something twisted ever so slightly in Roelle’s gossip and she wonders what is driving such venom towards her from her childhood septa.

Tyene is working carefully, teasing out bits and pieces of information, all of which point in the direction of Qyburn.  The Master of Whisperers and the rest of the small council have returned to treating her with remote courtesy although they still glare resentfully at her as she sits at Jaime’s side during their meetings.

While Tyene’s questing has so far not revealed any other conspirators, Brienne is still suspicious of every high born she sees, including the members of the small council.  Of one thing she is certain, however:  Jaime did not assist Cersei with the assault against her, and he will not set her aside any time soon.

Mayhaps she’s naive, she thinks as he slides into the bed beside her, and he is only waiting for Cersei to arrive with his babe in her belly before he sets Brienne aside.

But her doubts disappear as he stretches out beside her and gathers her in his arms.  She sighs with content as she slides her leg between his and presses closer.

Just like all the nights since she woke from her attack, they speak in soft tones of the events of the day, their plans for the following day, of who they might place on the small council when the time is right, of the things that concern them as monarchs.  They then speak of gossip and worries, of things that might amuse the other, or share gentle memories of their pasts, and there’s something about this quiet intimacy that, to Brienne, feels like water falling in the desert.  Something is blooming inside her with every word, and every night she allows herself to simply let it all be.

On this night, they finally lapse into comfortable, relaxed silence.  With his body, long and lean and warm and solid beside hers, Brienne finds herself longing for something more.

She presses closer and strokes her hand down his back and over his flank.

“You’re still too sore, Brienne,” Jaime groans even as she feels his cock stir.

“We can be careful,” she says and he gives a pained chuckle.

“Mayhaps _you_ can be careful!  I have been yearning to take you since you first opened your eyes.  I may not have enough control to be mindful of your injuries.”

“It’s been a full turn of the moon,” Brienne says, lifting herself so she can look down at him, “and do you truly think I will not stop you if you hurt me?”

He reaches up and cups her cheek.  “Brienne,” he whispers, and guides her mouth to his.

*/*/*/*/*

The raven arrives two days later.

“The King in the North is on his way to King’s Landing,” Jaime tells Brienne and the small council.  “We needs must make him and my sweet sister welcome.”

*/*/*/*/*

“What are you going to do?” Brienne asks that night in the quiet, dark peace of their bed.

Jaime closes his eyes.  “I don’t know.  Mayhaps the more important question is what are _you_ going to do?”

*/*/*/*/*

They still have no answers even three weeks on, as Eddard Stark’s royal coach sweeps into the courtyard of the Red Keep.  They watch from the ramparts of Maegor’s Holdfast as Sandor Clegane, as courtly as any lord born to the station, assists the Queen in the North from the carriage.  Even from this distance, Cersei’s golden beauty is blinding.

Brienne turns her head and looks at Jaime.

His face is expressionless as he stares at her then he abruptly turns, his cloak a swirl of red and gold, and hurries down the steps to greet his sister.

*/*/*/*/*

Cersei is as beautiful as always, and like a trained dog, Jaime’s cock stirs at the sight of her.  Then he remembers Brienne’s bruised and bloodied body and any desire for the woman in front of him disappears as quickly as the morning dew.

Cersei’s smirk is arrogant and cold. 

“You needs must be careful, sweet brother.  The King in the North keeps close watch over what he considers his.  Your presence in my apartment so quickly after our arrival will have the tongues of the Northmen wagging before they’ve even unsaddled their horses.”

Jaime’s response is just as cold.  “Let their tongues wag.”

Cersei’s expression turns triumphant.  “I knew you called us here to claim me as your own,” she purrs and steps into his arms and lifts her face for his kiss.

He holds her close for a moment, taking note of the gentle swell of her belly pressing against him before he carefully sets her away.

“I have done no such thing,” he says.

She abruptly turns her shoulder to him.  “Then why have you risked my life and the life of my babe to drag me all this way?”

Jaime’s smile is cruel.  “You know why.  Lord Sandor Clegane returned his brother’s bones to your gentle care and told you the circumstances of his death.”

Cersei shrugs one elegantly graceful shoulder.  “What care I for the Mountain’s end?  He was a monster anyway.”

“Considering he died attempting to fulfill your orders, I think you care a great deal.  He succeeded in causing my wife to lose the child she was carrying even if he didn’t succeed in killing her.”

Cersei’s smile is brief and brittle.  “I heard.  Pity.”

“No more games, Cersei,” Jaime says, suddenly tired.  “I know you sent the Mountain to kill Brienne, just like you killed Melara and Lysa and Margaery.  I suppose you think I should just be grateful you allowed me to marry at all!”

Cersei sniffs.  “You know how jealous I am of you, Jaime.”

“Jealous.  Yes.  But not because you lust for my body nor love me so much you cannot stand to see another woman have me.  You lust only for the Southron Throne.”

She glares.  “You’re mad,” she says, her voice flat.  “I have the Northern Throne—”

“Because your sweet husband calls you Queen, which he only does because he hopes the whelp you’re carrying is his.  Is it?”

“You know whose babe it is.”

“We will know soon enough.  If it is mine, you should be in the child-bed within days.  In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t have the babe on the way here.”

Cersei’s face twists with anger.  “That bitch you married has turned you cruel!  The babe will arrive when it arrives; mayhaps I will convince King Eddard to leave again within the next few days.”

“You are not so stupid, Cersei.  You tried to kill the Southron Queen.  You will not be returning to the North.  You will never again be allowed out of these rooms.”

Cersei’s expression doesn’t change as she stares at him.  “You’re mad.  Ned may bear no love for me, but he will not allow his Queen to be held captive on a whim!”

“It is not a whim.  Ser Gregor Clegane was caught in the act of attempting to beat my wife to death.  He was obeying your orders, and ‘tis not the first time you have murdered a woman who was in your way.”

Cersei’s lip curls into a sneer.  “You have no courage, sweet brother.  If I hadn’t intervened, you would have gone to your fate like the little lamb you are.  None of those girls were good enough for you.”

“And Elia?  Was Elia for me, too, sweet sister?  And what of our father?”

“I had nothing to do with our father’s death,” she snaps.  “I am no kinslayer!”

“King Selwyn, then.”

She shrugs.  “The sooner we had the Stormlands, the sooner you could rid yourself of that ugly cow you were forced to marry.  Tell me, sweet brother, do you dream of me while you fuck her?”

“I do not dream of you at all,” he says, his voice flat and cold.  “The only reason you still live is because of the babe in your belly.  If there’s any babe at all.”

Her palm slams against his cheek.

He smirks.  “Touched a nerve, sweet sister?”  He strides to the door and opens it.  King Eddard and Brienne step inside, followed by Septa Tyene and several novices.

Jaime glances at Ned and Brienne and, judging from their faces, they’ve heard all that was needed.  He turns to Tyene and says, “Examine her and let me know what you find.”

He leaves the room without looking back.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne finds him on the ramparts of Maegor’s Holdfast, staring down at the courtyard.  She quietly takes her place by his side and they stand in surprisingly companionable silence for several moments.

“The septas have finished their examination,” Brienne finally says, her voice quiet.

Jaime’s hands tighten on the stone wall he’s leaning on.

“She _is_ with child, but they estimate she has several months—mayhaps as many as five—before the child will be born.”

Jaime’s mind whirls then he slowly relaxes.  “Then it isn’t mine.”

“No.”

He lets out a pent-up breath and bows his head.

“I’m sorry,” Brienne says and he frowns.

“Why would you be sorry?”

She looks away.  “Your natural child, even if bastard born.  Easy enough to legitimize once born.  Easier than setting me aside and taking a new bride.”

Jaime doesn’t know if he should laugh or shout at her.

“I have no desire for a child from Cersei,” he says flatly.  “Remember:  her child is my heir regardless of the father.  If King Eddard decides to deny the child, then, again, I can legitimize them and raise them as my legitimate nephew or niece, alongside any children we may have.”

“Jaime—”

“You’re young, Brienne, and we may not know for years if we will ever have children together.  Under the circumstances, Cersei’s babe is heir enough.”  His shoulders slump as he turns back to staring out at the courtyard of the Red Keep.  “Mayhaps it would be best if we allow this Lannister line die out.”

“What?  Why?”

He shakes his head, his lips tight.  Brienne stands, silent and stolid beside him, and he draws greater strength from her presence than he cares to admit.

Finally, he says, “I’ve prayed for years that she is not the monster she claims to be, that her claims of murder and betrayal were lies, like all else about her.  A child from one such as her, on any Throne at all, worries me.  The best thing will be if King Eddard claims the child and raises them in the North, far from King’s Landing and any Lannister.  Mayhaps then they will have a chance.”

Brienne puts a tentative hand on his shoulder.  “Jaime, please.”

He bows his head and says, “Cersei claims to have murdered every one of my betrothed.  She murdered Elia Martell; that I know for certain.  She swears the children she bore Rhaegar died natural deaths...but what is truth?  What is lie?”  He slams a fist down on top of the stone rampart and rejoices in the sharp pain of it.  “How could I have so blindly loved a woman like that for so long?”

*/*/*/*/*

King Eddard worries on the problem for several days then decides to claim the child as his.

His long, thin face is wry as he says, “I, too, need an heir, King Jaime, and there are few Northern marriage-aged women at the moment…unless you want to consider the Freys.”

Jaime allows a brief smile to cross his face at that.  “True,” he says.  “There are some Martells, I understand.”

“Only those who are bastard born, now that Princess Arianne is betrothed to some Essos nobleman.”  Ned grimaces.  “If only Prince Oberyn had bothered to marry at least one of the mothers!”

Jaime chuckles.

Ned sighs.  “In the North, there’s only House Mormont with one daughter unspoken for.  Lady Lyanna is only ten and I would need to wait until she’s of age.  Still, if she is as fierce as her mother and older sisters, she would make a fine Queen in the North.”

“Or marry her to your son, if Cersei births a boy.”

Ned’s smile is bittersweet.  “You know how risky it is to put all your dynastic hopes into one frail babe.”

Jaime’s smile is just as bittersweet.  “I may have no more choice than you, Your Majesty.”

*/*/*/*/*

Septa Tyene gracefully sits on the chair in Brienne’s dressing room, and not for the first time, Brienne wonders why such a beautiful girl would choose the life of a septa.

The thought flits away as Tyene leans closer and says, “I have listened to the gossip of the smallfolk, Your Majesty, and no one knows the truth of what is happening with Queen Cersei.  The only gossip I’ve heard is filled with worries that she is in confinement because her pregnancy is taking a heavy toll upon her.  No one has speculated her confinement is because she has committed a crime.”

Brienne’s not certain if she’s relieved or angry.  She and Jaime and Ned agreed to attempt to hide the true reason for Cersei’s disappearance from public life so there would no taint on the child once born.  There are days she still struggles with the decision, when she wants to walk the streets of King’s Landing screaming out the truth of Cersei’s crimes.

But they needs must protect the child, innocent of all their mother has done, for as long as possible.

Besides, they are still undecided as to what to do with Cersei.

“I have more troubling news,” Tyene says and Brienne snaps back to the present.

“Oh?”

“Qyburn has been seen in Queen Cersei’s apartment.”

Brienne raises an eyebrow.  “Any hint as to what they have been speaking on?”

Tyene shrugs.  “Treason, of course.”  She lowers her voice.  “His agents are everywhere in the Red Keep, waiting only for his command to strike.  This time, ‘tis not just you.  I’ve heard that King Jaime is also a target.”

To Brienne’s shame, she welcomes this new threat.  While not easily thwarted, it at least gives them something they can do.

“Is there anyone else working with Qyburn?” she asks.

“No other high-borns, Your Majesty, although he does have an extensive network of spies.”

Brienne nods.  “Good.”  She gives Tyene a thoughtful look.  “You are very good at this, septa.”

Tyene’s smile is almost horrifying in its innocence, but she says nothing.

Brienne stands and says, “We will soon need a new Master of Whisperers.”

“I am only effective because everyone trusts a septa,” Tyene says, looking alarmed for the first time since Brienne met her.

Brienne’s smile is slow.  “Who says anyone else will know?”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne speaks to Jaime and two days later, Qyburn’s body is discovered floating in the waters of Blackwater Bay.

They tell the rest of the small council they have decided the new Master of Whisperers has no need to be on the small council and refuse to tell them who it is.

Brienne takes almost sadistic pleasure in watching the men squirm.

*/*/*/*/*

The days drift by and turn into weeks and then months.

Jaime and Brienne go about their duties and to Brienne’s relief, they seem more alike than different in their decisions and goals.  At night, in the dark cocoon of their bedchamber, they talk and love and talk again.  It’s on one such night when Jaime cups her breast and she lets out a sharp hiss and bats his hand away.

He lifts his head and frowns.  “What is it?”

She scowls up at him, protectively covering her still-stinging breast.  “That hurt!”

He blinks at her and her own eyes widen, and then they’re scrambling to light the lanterns.  They carefully inspect her body, Jaime gently gliding his palms over every curve and line of her body, carefully weighing her small breasts in his hands, and paying special attention to the small curve of her belly.

“By the gods,” he whispers, his eyes wide and shining.

“Don’t…” she says, tears standing in her eyes.  “This may be wishful thinking, and even if true—there may not be a healthy babe at the end of it.”

His smile is wide and open and as happy as any child’s as he pulls her close.  “Mayhaps,” he says, “but for tonight, just for tonight, let us simply be _happy_.”

She sniffles and nods, and he smooths his hands down her back and kisses her.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne steps into Cersei’s apartment and stops on the threshold.

The former Queen in the North, the last Queen of a Targaryen King, turns to face her.

Cersei is as beautiful as always, her body heavy with child.  Her eyes are cold as she arches one elegant eyebrow and she sneers as she recognizes who has come to visit her.

They stare at each other in silence, and Brienne wonders why she allowed this woman to ever intimidate her.  Cersei’s monstrous, yes, but not a monster, delicately built and more fragile than Brienne will ever be.

The silence stretches until Brienne finally says, “I’m only here so you can see your failure with your own eyes.  Not only am I still alive, I am also with child.”

Cersei’s beautiful face twists and becomes something ugly.  “You lie.”

Brienne turns slightly and smooths her hand over her dress so Cersei can see the gentle swell of her belly.

“You’ve failed, Cersei,” Brienne says, her voice coolly calm.  “I’m alive, and I will give Jaime the children he desires.  You, sadly, will end up with nothing.”

Cersei sneers.  “Jaime’s mine, you besotted cow.  I may be a prisoner now in these apartments, but do not deceive yourself.  When he has his heirs, he’ll seek my bed again.”  Her sneer turns to a mocking smile.  “Enjoy the Southron Throne while you can, because in the end, that will be mine as well.  It has always been mine.”

Brienne stares at Cersei in disbelief and, to her surprise, with pity.  _She’s mad_ , she thinks, and finds she cannot bring herself to hate the other woman.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and means it.  “You will never have either of those ever again.”

Cersei glides to her, and Brienne catches her hand as she tries to slap her.

“Truly?” Brienne says in mocking disbelief and laughs.

Cersei growls and tries to land a punch in Brienne’s belly, but Brienne dances away and reacts, remembering only at the last moment to pull her punch.

Cersei cries out as blood spurts from her nose and she staggers back, almost falling.  Brienne quickly catches her and sets her back on her feet. 

She lets go of Cersei’s shoulders and says, very calmly, “Next time I’ll kill you,” before she turns and leaves the room.

*/*/*/*/*

Cersei goes into labour that afternoon, and the following morning, she is delivered of a dark-haired boy.

Jaime catches only a glimpse of his sweet sister lying on the bed.  Septa Tyene leans over her while a novice steps out of the bedroom and places the swaddled child in King Eddard’s arms.

When word arrives the next day that Cersei died in her child-bed, Jaime looks at Brienne and wonders if she took her vengeance.

He doesn’t blame her if she did.

*/*/*/*/*

They bury Cersei with all the ceremony befitting a Queen, but her bones are to be sent to Casterly Rock to be laid to rest beside her mother.  Word is also quietly spreading through King’s Landing that any mention of Queen Cersei in the city is to be removed and she is to be allowed to fade into history.

Brienne stands beside Jaime as the funeral procession leave the Red Keep and wonders if Jaime had rendered his own justice on Cersei as punishment for his sweet sister’s crimes.

She turns and sees his face, cold and expressionless as he watches the funeral carriage disappear through the gates.

She doesn’t blame him if he did.

*/*/*/*/*

King Eddard departs for the North with the little prince and a wet nurse by his side.  Jaime and Brienne replace their small council and turn their attention to the business of governing a kingdom still damaged from war.

Both of them anxiously await the birth of their child.

But there’s still one monster Brienne needs to slay:  she has not been back to the training yard where Ser Gregor attacked her.  She returned to sparring as soon as her injuries permitted it, but she and Sandor met in their isolated courtyard until he departed the Red Keep to take up his new duties as Lord Clegane at Castermere.

Now she asks Jaime to escort her and he walks silently beside her as she paces the yard, reliving every moment, each thought, every action.  She stops beside the wall next to the armoury door.

“I was so close,” she whispers.

Jaime quietly watches her.

Brienne takes a deep breath and turns to face him.  “I will return here to spar once I have recovered from birthing your babe.”

Jaime’s smile is slow and proud.  “I know,” he says, then leans closer.  “Our storeroom is still open as well.”

She blushes and gives him a shy grin.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne sometimes thinks on Cersei’s fate and while she has her suspicions, she sometimes wonders if the former Queen had truly died a natural death.  The child bed is notoriously dangerous for women—Brienne’s own mother died birthing her—and as her time draws near, she can’t help but wonder if she will fare any better.

Septa Roelle is of little comfort, although her jibes that Brienne is large enough to birth a litter of lion cubs actually makes her feel a little more confident about the birth.

After one particularly acidic exchange, Brienne sends Septa Roelle from her presence and paces restlessly, wearily rubbing her aching back.

“Forgive her, Your Majesty,” Septa Tyene says, “she’s been consumed with envy and hate for so long, she knows nothing else.”

Brienne scowls at her as Brienne sits then gets again to her feet, unable to get comfortable.  “Envy and hate?”

“She loved your father, you know.  Loved him even before he married your mother.  She says you look so much like her that she has never been able to get past it.”

Brienne’s jaw slowly drops and for a moment she forgets her aching back.  “ _What?_ ”

Tyene spreads her hands in a shrug.  “If your mother had lived, mayhaps Septa Roelle would have taken her jealousy out on her instead of a defenseless, motherless child.  But we are all women, even if we wear the robes of a septa, and we are all human.  We love, we hate, we fear, and we make mistakes.”

Brienne blinks, then winces as her back muscles spasm.

“Mayhaps I need to send her back to Tarth,” she says.

Tyene’s eyes are watchful.  “Mayhaps,” she says.

Brienne cries out in surprise as there’s a sudden gush of liquid from between her legs.

She gapes down at the pool of water on the floor and Tyene chuckles.

“The question of what to do about Septa Roelle definitely needs to wait for later.”

*/*/*/*/*

The sun has set and risen and set again by the time the door to the bedchamber finally opens and Septa Tyene walks out to greet Jaime.

“Twins, Your Majesty,” she says with a smile as she lays first one bundle and then the other in Jaime’s arms.  “Boys.”  She lays a gentle finger on the one in his right arm.  “The eldest, by several minutes.  We’ve tied a gold ribbon round his arm to mark him.”

Jaime nods, feeling overwhelmed with the weight of the babies in his arms.  He swallows.  “Brienne?” he says, his voice husky.  He clears his throat and says, “The Queen?  How fares the Queen?”

“She has done well, Your Majesty,” says Septa Roelle.  “She should pull through, great lumbering woman that she is.”

Jaime slowly tears his gaze away from his sons to look at the old septa.  Her eyes are cold and cruel and, he thinks with a chill, disappointed.

“The labor took a long time,” he says, his eyes on Septa Roelle’s face.

“Twins, Your Majesty,” Tyene says with a warm smile and she, at least, seems pleased with the children and Brienne and him.  “Twins often take longer, plus the first birthing tends to be the longest as well.  The next child should go more quickly.  The Queen is young and strong and healthy, although naturally exhausted at the moment.  The novices are cleaning her and the bed now.”

“We shall take them to the wet nurse,” Roelle says briskly, reaching for the baby in his right arm.

“Has the Queen fed the babes already?” he asks, making no move to allow his children to be taken from him.

Roelle grimaces.  “Her teats are not large enough to feed one babe let alone two!”

“Has she been allowed to try?” he asks drily.  He looks at Tyene as he stands and says, “Open the door so I can take our sons to be fed by their mother.”

“Your Majesty—” Septa Roelle sputters as Tyene hastens to do as he asked.

He turns to her and raises an eyebrow.

“She’s still being cleaned,” the old septa says weakly, wilting beneath his glare.

His smile is thin.  “I have been on the battlefield, septa, and I have seen Brienne before, bruised and battered.  Blood does not frighten me.”

*/*/*/*/*

It’s not the same, of course.  Blood on the battlefield is to be expected and endured, and the men injured or dying or dead were not Brienne.  She looks exhausted and Jaime knows she must be since she is allowing the novices to cater to her without protest.

She lifts those startling blue eyes, even larger and more beautiful in her pale and tired face, to look at him as he steps into the room.

As two novices finish removing the birthing mats and stained sheets from the bed, he watches as two others finish washing Brienne then help her to her feet so they can lower a nursing tunic over her head.  Jaime notices the stretch marks on her belly—wounds from another kind of battle, he thinks, a battle neither of them can influence with words or actions.

The novices finish making the bed and help her back on to the mattress.  They then leave them while shooting curious looks over their shoulders.

Jaime walks to the bed and gives her one child then carefully joins her on the bed.  He smiles as he sees the babe in her arms nuzzle against her breast, already seeking.

Brienne looks uncertainly at him and he gives her a nod.

She swallows, and he sees tears in her eyes even as she bares her breast and, after a fumbling moment, the baby begins to feed.

“What if...what if I’m not enough?” she whispers and she sounds so tired and sad that for a moment, Jaime sees Lannister red behind his eyes as he wonders what that old bitch of a septa has been whispering in Brienne’s ears even as she struggled to bring their children into the light.

“You’ll be enough,” Jaime tells her.  “You’ll be more than enough.”

“But there’s a wet nurse?”

“Of course,” he says, and gives her a wicked smile.  “In case you need rest, and, of course, for those nights when I don’t want to share your breasts with anyone, not even my sons.”

She blushes and looks down at the nuzzling babe.  He already seems to be nuzzling for comfort rather than from hunger and his eyes, as blue as his mother’s, slowly close in sleep. 

Jaime and Brienne carefully exchange children so she can feed their second son, then Jaime positions himself so they can put their heads together as they admire their babes.

Brienne smiles down at their children and says, “You have your sons, Jaime.  The legitimate heirs the realm needs.”

“Aye,” he says absently, smiling at their sleeping faces.

“Two sons and done,” she whispers.

He gives her a surprised look.  “If you wish it,” he says.  “We can certainly keep you supplied with moon tea if you prefer, although I hope you will someday give me a little girl who looks like you.”

She swallows and a tear slip down her cheek.

“You’re tired,” he says, alarmed, “and I have been thoughtless”  He sits up and starts to scramble from the bed, trying not to wake the sleeping children.  “I’ll send for the septas—well, Tyene, at least—to care for the babes while you sleep.  The wet nurse will be nearby if you are too exhausted to feed them.”

She blinks startled and confused eyes at him.

“You’re leaving?” she asks plaintively, and he can see she cringes at the tone of her voice.

He hesitates then smiles.  “No,” he says softly, “I’m not leaving.”

It takes a little maneuvering but they at last position themselves so Jaime has Brienne resting against his chest with the babes sleeping peacefully on her chest, one against each breast.  Jaime’s arms are around all the three of them.

Brienne’s almost instantly asleep, her head lolling heavily against him.  He presses his lips against her brow then closes his eyes and allows himself to simply _be_.

*/*/*/*/*


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   The f-bomb a few times.  Do you even need to warn for that these days?
> 
> **A/N1:**   This is it.  The last chapter; the end of this fic.  I’m both thrilled and heartbroken.  I’ll miss playing in these universes and playing with all of you.  I’m sorry I couldn’t stretch this out to the extra chapter I thought I’d need.  :(
> 
> **A/N2:**   I apologize in advance to everyone who is subscribed to this fic and gets e-mails for every new chapter.  You’ll get a flurry of e-mails because I’ll be posting an Author’s Note right away, and then I’ll be immediately posting each universe’s story in its own chapter, so you can easily revisit your favourite storyline(s).  :)

 

***/*/*/*/***

Jaime blinks as the control room comes back into focus.  His arms feel achingly empty from the abrupt loss of Queen Brienne’s and the babies’ weight against him.

He turns to his Brienne, who’s watching him with wide, wary eyes and for a moment, he falls towards her, as inevitably as a moth to a flame, or a bee to a flower, or a meteor falling into the sun.

Her hand, pressed flat against his chest, stops him.

“It’s just echoes of the other universe,” she whispers.

He scowls and opens his mouth, but before he can object she says, “Besides, I feel like I’ve just given birth to twins after more than twenty-four hours of labor.  I’m exhausted...and I think I’m going to double-down on my birth control for a while.”

Jaime hangs his head and huffs a laugh.

*/*/*/*/*

They work in silence, cleaning the control room and powering down the Wall.

As they’re leaving, Brienne pauses in the doorway and looks back.

_So innocuous_ , she thinks as she considers the desks and the keyboards and the dark computer screens.  _So innocuous and yet, look at everything that has happened here._   She turns to Jaime, who’s watching her with a raised eyebrow. 

Innocuous and yet so life-changing.

*/*/*/*/*

They drive back to Castle Black in companionable albeit exhausted silence and for the first time in two nights, Brienne gathers Pod from Jaime’s suite and goes back to her own room.

*/*/*/*/*

They both sleep restlessly, waking and reaching for the other, only to find empty space.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime wakes, heavy-eyed and more determined than ever to try and convince his Brienne that what’s happening between them is real and not just echoes of other people’s feelings.  He hopes he can convince her to give him— _them_ —a chance, here, in this universe.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime sits rather mournfully beside Brienne in the Lannister private jet as they fly back to King’s Landing.

“I was looking forward to that road trip,” he sighs.  Pod gives a forlorn yip from inside his carrier and Jaime nods at the sad-eyed ratty little mutt.  “Almost as much as he was.”

Brienne gives him a slight smile.  “I was looking forward to it, too,” she says and Jaime wonders how much it took for her to admit that.  “But I’m exhausted.  I just want to sleep for a week and then...”  She frowns and looks away.

“Then we have to decide what we’re going to do with our discoveries,” he says and she nods.

“I’ve already agreed we won’t be using the data any time soon,” Jaime says.

Brienne pinches the bridge of her nose.  “As a scientist, that makes my soul shrivel.  As a human being, it’s the right thing to do.  Whether they’re in the same universe or not, whether they’re our counterparts or not, we’re talking about human beings.”

Jaime nods.  “Your ethics have apparently rubbed off on me in every universe,” he says and gives her a glimmer of a smile.

She smiles back then frowns.  “‘Any time soon’?”

“We’re not the only ones working in this area of research; you know that.  It’s only a matter of time before one of our rivals stumbles upon the same equations, runs the experiments, and has similar experiences.”

“So, we should be the first ones to publish just so we can beat someone else to it?”

Jaime’s chuckles a little at her outrage.  “Welcome to the world of publish or perish, Brienne.  And you’ve been around for a while; it’s not like that’s a surprise.”

She glares and opens her mouth and he lifts a hand to forestall her.

“Besides being the first to discover something—and winning the Samwell Prize for it, which we would, you know—we, at least, will lay out and explore all the ethical issues and repercussions in our papers and books and argue for...”

“For what, exactly?” she asks, suspicious.

He sighs.  “Regulations?  Legislation?  Some way to monitor and control the access to other universes?”  He wearily rubs his eyes and sighs.  “You’re right; these are human beings we’re talking about and while we can’t control them or influence them, this discovery shouldn’t be used for entertainment purposes, although you know that’s exactly what will happen.”

Brienne leans her head back and closes her eyes, grimacing.

“All I wanted was something to prove we could connect to another universe at the quantum level,” she mutters.

“Me, too,” Jaime says, “but this is what we’ve got, and we need to be responsible for how this knowledge is used, at least in the immediate future.”

Brienne opens her eyes and frowns at him.  “I really have rubbed off on you,” she says.

His eyes gleam and he gives her a wicked grin.  She blushes furiously and whacks his arm.

“Shut up,” she mutters and he laughs.

“I never said a word, Junior.  I think my counterparts have...erm... _influenced_ you, too.”

*/*/*/*/*

Tyrion, of course, wants to hear all about it and they give him an expurgated version of everything that happened.  They all bend their heads over the brain scan data, and Tyrion’s eyes go wide as he looks at the readings.

“What are you going to do?” Tyrion asks finally, leaning back and staring at them with an awed expression.

Jaime shakes his head and shrugs.  “This is heavy shit, Tyrion.  As far as I know, nobody else is even close to discovering these equations, so that gives us some time.  I think in the short term, we’ll just tell people our experiments didn’t do what we thought they would—which is true and Brienne should be able to tell such a lie with a straight face.”

Brienne rolls her eyes then nods.  “Other than that...” she says and rubs her hands over her face.  “Honestly?  Right now, all I want is to sleep for the next two days and not think about any of it.  I’ll continue worrying about the rest of it after that.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime takes Brienne and Pod back to her place and helps her carry her things inside.

She walks him to the door and says, sternly, “Two days.  Let me sleep for two days.”

“Fine, fine, fine,” he mutters, pouting, and she laughs as she gently closes the door in his face.

*/*/*/*/*

Tyrion raises an eyebrow as Jaime throws himself face-first on to the couch.

“Beer?” Tyrion says.

Jaime nods then sits up as Tyrion hands him a beer and settles on the couch beside him.

“So, you’ve told me about the experiments and the other universes,” Tyrion says after he swallows a gulp of beer.  “What are you going to do about the Brienne in _this_ universe?”

Jaime doesn’t even both trying to deny it.    “I had a plan,” he mutters.  “I was going to take her on a road trip and have us make memories that were just ours.  Convince her that what we’re feeling is real and a product of this universe and only this universe.”  He scowls at his beer bottle as he picks at the label.  “Things went a little sideways with the experiments and here we are.”

Tyrion smirks.  “Here you are, but what makes you think you can’t still make your own memories, even if you’re in King’s Landing?”

“Almost every Jaime and Brienne has been to King’s Landing together.”

Tyrion laughs.  “Stop pouting!  This is a big city with lots of events and things to do.  There has to be something going on that no other Jaime or Brienne has done together.”  He nudges Jaime’s shoulder with his and pulls out his phone.  “Come on; let’s see what’s going on around town.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne stumbles to the door, telling Pod to hush his barking.  She flings it open and blearily blinks at Jaime, looking far too awake and gorgeous for—

“It’s 6:30, Jaime.  In the morning.  On the first day of the weekend!”

He bounces on the balls of his feet.  “I know!  And it’s going to be a beautiful day!”

She stares incredulously at him.

“I’ve left you alone for two whole days; aren’t you going to let me in?” he coaxes and holds up a bag of doughnuts.  “Hope you have coffee.”  He glances down at the still-barking Pod.  “Morning, you ratty little mutt.”

“Don’t you be mean to my dog,” she says and steps aside so he can walk in.

“I’m not being mean,” he says, his eyes sparkling as he strides to the kitchen.  “He’s not a pedigree, is he?”

“Considering I found him abandoned in a gutter, I’d say no.”

“So he’s a mutt.  There’s no shame in being a mutt.”  He grins as he sets the bag of doughnuts on the table then looks hopefully at the coffee pot on the kitchen counter.

Brienne scowls as she shuffles forward to make coffee.  He’s up to something, she thinks. She glances at him then decides it’s too fucking early on the first day of the weekend for her to even think of trying to decipher what’s going on in Jaime’s mind.

“I’ll be back,” she mutters and shuffles to the bathroom, Pod at her heels.

She returns several minutes later to find Jaime has made himself at home.  He’s found plates and has the doughnuts neatly arranged on one.  Cups are waiting by the still-perking coffee pot and he’s put sugar and cream on the table.

She stops and raises an eyebrow.  “What do you want, Jaime?” she says with a sigh and slides onto a chair.

He grins but says nothing, only hastily getting out of his chair once the coffee pot finishes perking.  He pours them each a cup and carries them to the table before he sits again.

Now Brienne’s _really_ worried.

“Oh, gods—somebody else has run our experiments,” she breathes.

He raises an eyebrow.  “Do you really think I’d show up with a smile and doughnuts if that were the case?  Whiskey and a scowl, yes, but doughnuts?”

Brienne’s lips twitch towards a smile but she sternly suppresses the urge.  “Then what are you up to?” she asks, deeply suspicious.

Jaime leans forward, his green eyes twinkling.  “Have you noticed, Brienne, that no matter what universe we’re in, we never seem to have any fun?”

Brienne pauses, a doughnut half-way to her mouth.  She blinks.

Jaime’s grin turns to a mock-frown.  “I mean, yes, Megastar Jaime is always ready to party, but really, all the other universes are pretty much all-work-all-the-time.”

“Well, Farmer Brienne was trying to keep a roof over their heads and food on their table.  She might lighten up now she’s about to become a millionaire.”

“True.  And it’s tough to show a girl a good time when you’re in shackles in a prison cell, waiting to die.”

Brienne presses her lips tightly together to stop herself from laughing, and says, “Prince, later King, Jaime isn’t exactly a barrel of laughs either.”

“Gods, no, and the Mad Jon universe really doesn’t have anything in the way of entertainment.  Well, other than—”

“That’s enough,” she yelps, blushing.  He laughs as she takes a hasty sip of her coffee.

She considers him thoughtfully over her coffee cup and he looks even more delicious than the doughnuts he brought—and the doughnuts look pretty damn tasty.  Her hopes rise.  Maybe she can trust that all of this flirting is because he—this Jaime, sitting in front of her—is interested in _her_.  Then she remembers their kisses after Queen Brienne was attacked, how tightly they held on to each other, and deflates.

The other universes are still echoing in their heads.  Mayhaps they’ll continue falling towards each other once the echoes have faded, but for right now...

She sighs.  “What’s this all about?”

Jaime smiles.  “We don’t have any of those factors,” he says, “so why aren’t _we_ having any fun?”

She stares, wondering what the hells is going on in that handsome head of his.

“I don’t understand...” she finally says.

“The fact you don’t understand the concept of ‘fun’ is sad all on its own, but that’s a conversation for another day.”  He leans forward again.  “There’s a carnival in town.”

“Carnival?”

“Yes.  You know, those temporary entertainment venues filled with shoddily constructed rides that make you puke, haunted houses, games rigged so you spend a hundred dragons to win a fifty-groat toy, and deep fried food that you can hear hardening your arteries as you chew it, made in booths of questionable cleanliness?”

“I know what carnivals are!  But we need to decide what we’re going to do with the results of our experiments and—”

“It’s the weekend!  And you were willing to take a whole week off for a road trip, remember?  And let’s face it:  sometimes we all just need to have some fun.”

“No,” Brienne says flatly.  A fun Jaime would be the death of her.  “No. I’m going to the lab to work.”

*/*/*/*/*

“Not the roller coaster, Jaime,” she says, digging in her heels.  “They only put that thing together a few days ago—the gods only know how safe it is!”

“Coward,” Jaime says cheerfully, as he has every other time she’s objected to a ride.

“That’s not going to work this time,” she snaps with a scowl.

He grins.

*/*/*/*/*

“No more rides,” Brienne groans as they stagger off the roller coaster.

“There’s only one left,” Jaime says.

“Gods, which of the seven hells is this ride from?”

He points and her mouth slowly sags open.

The Tunnel of Love.

*/*/*/*/*

“Relax, Brienne,” Jaime murmurs as the swan-shaped boat begins its journey into the dark tunnel.

“This is ridiculous, Jaime,” she mutters, and wonders if he can feel her thrumming nerves.

“No, Brienne; this is fun.”

He puts a finger under her chin and gently turns her head so she’s looking at him.

“Jaime,” she says softly, and she doesn’t know if she’s protesting or begging.

He quirks a smile.  “No?” he says.

She stares at him in the dim light of this stupid tunnel, in this stupid too-small swan-shaped boat, on this stupid ‘fun’ day and knows— _knows_ —she needs to put a stop to this insanity because it’s an insanity fuelled only by the emotions and memories of all the other Jaimes and Briennes.

His thumb gently strokes her cheek.

“No,” he says and releases her, leaning back with a sad smile.

It’s the sadness on his face that breaks her control and she grabs his head and drags him to her, painfully mashing their lips together and almost toppling them out of that stupid, too-small boat.

She immediately lets him go.

“Oh, fuck,” she groans and he laughs and she wants this stupid boat to sink so she can fucking drown herself and then he cups her face and kisses her.

*/*/*/*/*

They only stop kissing when they emerge, blinking, back into the daylight.

Jaime says, “Well, that was definitely a first,” and presses one last, lingering kiss against her swollen lips.

When he releases her, Brienne knows she’s beet red.  She glances at the bored attendant and blushes even more.

“Well,” Jaime says as he helps her from the boat, “that’s my favourite ride, by far.  But now...”

She blinks then narrows her eyes.  “Now what?”

“Now we eat, and then it’s time for the games.”

“Oh, gods,” she groans as he grabs her hand and tugs her along behind him.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime’s still pouting when he pulls up in front of her little house.

“I can’t believe you won more prizes than me,” he grumbles.

Brienne’s smile is smug.  “I expect to see every last one of them in a place of honor in your house.”

“One, I live with Tyrion so I don’t even have a house, and two—there’s no room for them all!”

She laughs as they get out of the car and they grab those prizes Jaime had won for her and carry them inside.

Pod greets them, barking excitedly and jumping round their feet.  They give him some attention and then Brienne turns to Jaime, feeling suddenly awkward.

“Do you...would you...I have some...” she stalls and stares helplessly at him.

“No,” he says slowly, shaking his head.  “I know you’re worried that what’s happening between us is being influenced by memories of those other universes, so I’m willing to take it slow.”  He stares, his eyes dark and burning.  “But if we want to take it slow, I better not stay, not with you looking at me like that.”

Her eyes widen as she recognizes the look on his face; she’s seen it enough in the other universes.  She thinks of their kisses in the Tunnel of Love and her knees tremble a little.

“Oh,” she says, and she’s surprised at her breathy, almost flirty, tone.

He gulps a little then turns and walks to the door while she trails after him, wondering if she should throw caution to the wind and beg him to stay.  He abruptly turns and takes her hand, tugging her into his arms.  They kiss, and Brienne is vaguely aware of him gently guiding her so her back is against the wall and then the kiss abruptly changes, deepens and suddenly she’s clutching at his back, one leg hooked over his hip as he presses against her, like he’s trying to absorb her into his very soul.

He breaks the kiss and buries his face in the crook of her neck, trying to catch his breath.

She’s panting and she doesn’t know if she’s glad or sorry that he’s kept enough presence of mind to slow things down.  She’s shaking, and she doesn’t know if she’s ready for—for whatever this is.  She’s not sure if he wants her because of the other Jaimes and Briennes they’ve found, or if this is something this Jaime really feels, as himself.

Jaime groans as he steps away from her and she feels suddenly very cold without the heat of his body pressed tight against her.

“I better go,” he says.

She gives a jerky nod.  “Probably for the best,” she manages.

His smile is pained.  “Probably,” he says.  He takes another step away, running a hand through his hair and taking a deep breath as he regains control.  “Still, I’d have to say this was a successful first date.”

She blinks.  “First?  _Date_?”

He laughs.  “It’s good to know that some things remain the same, no matter which Brienne it is.  Yes, first date.”  He steps closer and strokes her cheek, running his thumb over her lips, before he drops his hand and turns back to the door.  “You’ll have to come up with something fun for us to do for our second date.”

She blinks owlishly as he opens the door then she says, “Okay.”

He grins, leans in for one last kiss, then steps outside and closes the door behind him.

She presses her forehead against the door, closing her eyes and struggling with her worries about what this all means.

Then her eyes pop open and she mutters, “You are not this craven,” and yanks the door open.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime closes the door behind him and pauses on the step.  He raises his face to the clear sky, taking in the beauty of the stars twinkling above his head.

She’s right, he thinks, they need to take this slow.  She means too much to him and they need to make sure this is about _them_ , the Jaime and Brienne in this universe, that this is what _they_ want and not something driven by the memories and the feelings of all those other Jaimes and Briennes. 

He knows she’s right…and he’ll see her tomorrow…but he can’t seem to force himself to walk away.

_I’m such a coward_ , he thinks, and turns, his hand raised to knock just as the door is pulled open.

They freeze, staring, and then Brienne grabs him by the collar and yanks him inside.

*/*/*/*/*

They crash together in a flurry of kisses and hands, flying buttons and ripping cloth, and Jaime’s pleased ‘ _yes_ ’ when he sees the lion-shaped cluster of freckles on Brienne’s right hip.

“This,” Brienne says as they fall on her bed, “had better be the best sex in all six universes.”

Jaime shakes with laughter.  “I was about to tell you the same thing,” he says.

*/*/*/*/*

It is.

*/*/*/*/*

He stretches out beside her, lean and strong, smoothly muscled and gorgeous, one arm and leg flung across her body.  His breathing is slowing, steadying and Brienne recognizes the signs of him falling into sleep.

It’s new and yet so familiar.  If she were to delve into all those memories she’s gained from all the other universes, she knows this would be as familiar to her as her own face.  She wonders what those other Briennes would think if they knew she’d been there, experiencing everything they were experiencing.

A sudden thought crosses her mind and she tenses, frowning up at the ceiling.

“What’s wrong?” Jaime murmurs against her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin.

“I just…do you think...do you think _we’re_ being watched, right now?  Just like we watched the other Jaimes and Briennes?”

Jaime lifts his beautiful, golden head and smiles at her.

“Probably,” he says and she flushes, feeling suddenly exposed.  They haven’t even thrown the blankets over themselves yet.

Jaime chuckles at her expression and presses a gentle kiss against her shoulder.

“We’re just watching ourselves, Brienne, just like we watched those other versions of us.  They’re just us; they mean no harm…and they’re probably thinking it’s about bloody time.”

*/*/*/*/*

_“Well, it’s about bloody time,” Jaime growls in her ear._

_Brienne blinks and she’s back in their custom-built lab, hidden deep in the woods of their estate.  She looks at Jaime, who’s also blinking, reorienting himself to home and this version of her._

_She smiles.  “Well, they are our most closely related counterparts,” she says, scribbling notes on the pad in front of her.  “They’re even physicists!”_

_“And it still took them twice as long to realize they belong together as it did us,” Jaime says and presses a kiss against her lips.  “Are we finished for today?” he asks, green eyes lit with laughter.  “Can we ignore our counterparts and focus on just the us in this universe?”_

_She leans in and kisses him then shyly nods.  Even after all this time—after all these lifetimes—she still finds it difficult to believe—_

_He seems to read something in her eyes because he moves in for another kiss, longer, deeper, and she moans softly in protest when they finally break apart._

_“Enough,” he says, his voice husky in her ear.  “Soul mates.  No matter what universe we’re in.”  His hand goes to the slight curve of her waist and smooths over her right hip.  “Now, there’s a certain lion-shaped constellation of freckles that I would dearly love to explore myself, rather than through proxies.”  He kisses her again.  “Let’s go make a few more memories of our own.”_

_She blushes then grins as she takes his hand and leads him out of the lab._

#####

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N3:**   If anybody would like to, I've set up a poll so you can rank the universes, from least favourite to most favourite (it's literally one question - LOL).  Hopefully I've done this right and everyone can get to it here:  https://goo.gl/forms/FRfxYVeWqIX5zHv93


	30. Author's Notes

**Background:**

Some (most?) of you already know this story, but for the benefit of those who don’t...

I was trying to decide what original story to write for National Novel Writing Month (NaNo) and had all of these storylines in my head.  I was literally debating the merits of writing each of the five different universes, and then I thought, “...or I could just write a novel about multiverses...”

Combined with that was the Jaime/Brienne obsession that I was struggling with (as in, “give me some space in my head so I can create some original characters for NaNo...please??  Pretty please???  No?  Really?!”)

Underlying both those elements was the question, especially in a fandom like J/B that has a LOT of AUs:  “In a fic, when is a character no longer that character, but simply somebody with the same name?”  I’m not a huge fan of AUs (even though I’ve written this massive multi-AU story with a second AU (singular universe, though, thankfully) in progress *facepalm*), mainly because of that very issue.  This then became my own experiment to see if I could stretch the limits of the characters as I perceive them across multiple AUs and still keep them “intact”, so to speak.

So, basically, indecision, obsession and curiosity were what drove the creation of this fic.  LOL

**The Universes**

Prime Universe

Theme song:  _Wonderwall_ by Oasis

_And all the roads we have to walk are winding_

_And all the lights that lead us there are blinding_

The framework within which everything else happens; this universe was supposed to be longer, more complex and deal more with the ethical questions and emotional fallout of riding along in other people’s memories (and still having those memories when you return to yourself).

As I said in a comment (or several):  we were also supposed to see the bar at Castle Black again; Jaime was supposed to be more emotionally devastated by his breakup with Taena; BRIENNE WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE FRIENDS!!!

*cough* Carrying on...

There was also supposed to be a failure of the EM barrier at some point...but I realized that would have derailed the fic into completely different territory—LOL—and so that would have had to be handled very carefully.

Now that the storylines for the other universes are completed, I’m hoping I’ll be able to incorporate most or all of the elements above into the original version of this fic.  They ended up truncated because of the pacing issues I ran into with the storylines in each universe.  Keeping them all—including the Prime Universe—moving at (relatively) the same pace really narrowed down what I did in the Prime universe.

That all said, I’m still really pleased with the decisions I made and the way this fic turned out.

Prince/Princess:

Theme Song:  _Hallelujah_ by KD Lang

_Baby I’ve been here before_

_I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor_

_I used to live alone before I knew ya_

_But I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch_

_Our love is not a victory march_

_It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah_

This universe was based on an idea for a canon-compliant fic that I couldn’t quite make work, considering where the characters are emotionally in canon.  I mean, Jaime/Brienne might be forced into a political marriage, but they already love and respect each other so much that it would be a very different scenario than the one I painted in this universe.

I also wanted something darker and as close to canon (in some ways) as I could make it.

Finally, I wanted to play with the idea of a semi-competent Cersei which is actually a rather terrifying thought. 

I didn't have her convince Jaime to join the Kingsguard in this universe, but that then led to the question of how she managed to keep him unmarried for so long.  I'm really sorry for throwing all those women under the bus, but it had to be done.

Singer/Farmer aka Best Friends: 

Theme Song:  _Long Time Gone_ by The Dixie Chicks

_Been a long time gone_

_No, I ain’t hoed a row since I don’t know when_

_Long time gone_

_And it ain’t coming back again_

This universe came to be because I wanted to put Jaime/Brienne in a really _ordinary_ universe.  It turned out to be a bit less ordinary than I originally planned—LOL—but it started from the idea of exploring who they would be and how they would act with each other if they were just living ordinary lives.

This is one of my ‘quiet’ universes, where there isn’t a lot of drama and there aren’t a lot of things that could potentially go very, very wrong.  It was really intended to be a slice-of-life…and then they end up millionaires anyway—LOL.

 

Prisoner/Septa:

Theme Song:  _Testify_ by Alan Doyle

_Take me down to the river, Preacher, take me by the hand_

_Take me down to the river, mend the soul of a broken man_

_Drown me in forgiveness, wash these bloody hands of mine,_

_Take me down to one last river, Lord,_

_Let me testify._

This universe was inspired by the music video and lyrics for this song (I've been trying to fit this character into a fic for about a year now).  This is my other ‘quiet’ universe, since Jaime/Brienne fall in love while sitting in a cell together and simply talking to each other, all while each one is on the cusp of something life-changing.

In my original draft, Prisoner Jaime was exactly who he appeared to be:  a criminal sentenced to death who escapes from custody.  He was then going to lure Septa Brienne into running away with him...and that's where the story faltered, because it brought me back to the question of:  how far can you stretch a canon character in a fic before they're just another character with the same name?

I honestly couldn't make Brienne's sense of honor and duty work with going on the run with a convicted criminal.

Of course, this universe ended with probably the most romantic moment (a literal knight in shining armor—OMG) so I don't regret the changes too much!!

Megastar/PI:

Theme Song:  _Life’s Been Good_ by Joe Walsh

_I have a mansion but forget the price_

_Ain’t never been there, they tell me it’s nice_

_I live in hotels, tear out the walls_

_I have accountants pay for it all_

_They say I’m crazy but I have a good time_

_I’m just looking for clues at the scene of the crime_

_Life’s been good to me so far_

This is the universe that started it all. 

This was my original premise for NaNo, which was supposed to be a take on the tired, old “celebrity really wants to be a detective so forces a PI/cop/whatever to take them on as a sidekick”.  My twist was going to be that the celebrity is having way too much fun _as a celebrity_ to want to do stupid detective shit—LOL—and like how the TV show, The A-team, had its running gags of “how are they going to get Murdock out of the psychiatric hospital this week?” and “how are they going to get B.A. Baracus on a plane this week?”, the running gag in the novel was going to be “how does she convince him to help her this week??”

I actually had Melissa McCarthy picked for the PI role (because she’s so pretty and ADORABLE when she’s not being screechy) but I don’t think I ever managed to pick an actor to play the Megastar.

Anyway, thanks, Jaime and Brienne, for completely derailing me!!  LOL

I enjoy this universe so much because it’s just over-the-top _fun_ (to me, anyway), from Jaime coming out of his alcoholic haze in the back of the limo, to Nymeria's out-of-control sexcapades, to Brienne's use of chocolate to get her way...this universe makes me laugh (...not that I'm biased or anything...*cough*)

I think I channelled Tony Stark more than a debauched Jaime Lannister, but I hope the ride was worth it - LOL.

Mad Jon aka Post-apocalypse:

Theme Song:  _Pompeii_ by Bastille

_But if you close your eyes_

_Does it almost feel like_

_Nothing changed at all?_

_And if you close your eyes_

_Does it almost feel like_

_You’ve been here before?_

_How am I gonna be an optimist about this?_

_How am I gonna be an optimist about this?_

Post-apocalyptic fic is my favourite jam, and I couldn’t resist putting Jaime/Brienne in that kind of a setting and see where it took me.  :)

This universe was supposed to focus more on the fact that they’re trying to lead and protect a settlement filled with children (without letting it turn into a Lord of the Flies kinda thing).  Joffrey’s psychopathy was also supposed to come into play and more kids were supposed to die (including Joffrey).  Not to mention the Mountain and his men were supposed to re-appear.

I mean…it’s post-apocalyptic fic…bad things happen…

Again, now that all the universes are written, I’ll be able to add in those elements when I convert this to an original fic.

Like with the Primes, though, I’m pleased with the decisions I made with this universe and I hope others enjoyed the ride, too.

Meta-Prime Universe:

HAAAAAhahahaha!!!

That is all.  ;P

 

**Closing Remarks:**

The biggest problem (besides the pacing) has been keeping this story contained to only six universes.  I kept getting ideas and I’d have to tell myself to stay focused—LOL.  We’ll see if I can keep that focus when I start converting this to an original fic.

In the meantime, I’ve set up a short poll here:  https://goo.gl/forms/FRfxYVeWqIX5zHv93 

(it’s literally one question and a place for comments - LOL) so if you’re interested in playing, you can rank the universes in order of preference.  It’s just for fun so play if you’d like.  :)  (And let me know if the link doesn’t work since this is the first time I’ve ever shared anything on Google drive.)

As for me, well...I still have the Jaime Lannister Investigations series to finish but I also have...*silently counts*...six novels/works to finish editing or rewriting and then self-publish...if I can get myself to focus.  *heavy sigh*  If the Winds of Winter gets published in the next year and we get good/new J/B canon, I’ll be so screwed.....

Anyway, thanks for coming along for the ride(s), everyone!  I hope you enjoyed reading this fic as much as I enjoyed creating it!  :D


	31. Addendum 1:  Prince/Princess

Brienne walks into the bedchamber, her skin clammy beneath the dress the sneering ladies of the court had crammed her into and called her wedding gown. Behind her is Prince Jaime Lannister, her-- _gods_ \--her new husband.

He looked as unhappy as she did in the sept and now she risks a glance at his thunderous face--beautiful, yes, but his rage makes it cruel, and Brienne--for all her size and skill and masculine appearance--trembles at the sight, suddenly remembering all the stories her septa had told her about what to expect in the marriage bed if her father ever managed to find someone stupid enough to accept her as his wife.

Well, Jaime looks far from stupid, and this marriage was forced upon them both in order to forge a lasting peace between her father’s Stormlands kingdom and King Tywin’s Westeros.

The war between their kingdoms had been long and bloody, with King Selwyn unexpectedly inheriting the Stormlands throne earlier this year. She herself bore scars from the war on her face, on her body, and on the softest parts of her heart. She had learned to wield a sword as a child and when the war began, she left to join--and eventually lead--her countrymen in battle. She had been in the battlefield for several years before her father became King and she, a Princess.

_Princess._

The title did not sit well on her mannish shoulders, but neither does ‘Queen’, and that is exactly what she will be once King Tywin dies, and twice over when her own father is gone. That had been the bargain King Selwyn and King Tywin had struck: this marriage would eventually merge their kingdoms into one and end the wars once and for all.

Prince Jaime’s green eyes are cold and she almost feels them rake her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, thankfully hidden beneath the ill--fitting gown. The terms of peace had been agreed and the marriage arranged and performed in a matter of days, and if the whispers are true about Prince Jaime and his twin sister, Princess Cersei, then Brienne understands why the wedding was so rushed.

Jaime’s mouth twists into a sneer.

“Stop looking so terrified, Your Grace,” he says with bitter mockery, “I am only waiting until the nattering crowd disperses and then I shall leave you to your own devices.” His sneer now has a tinge of grief to it. “There is another bed I prefer to be in.”

Brienne catches her breath and she lifts her chin. “So, the stories are true, then?” she says.

Jaime’s smile is cruel. “My sister is the most beautiful woman in the world, and we love each other. Of course the stories are true.”

“She is your sister!”

“Have I disgusted you?” Jaime purrs. “Good. You disgust me by simply existing and I am even more disgusted by our fathers for forcing this union upon us.”

Brienne’s heart cringes beneath his cutting words but she straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin. “Go to your sister, then, Your Grace, and take your pleasure in her body. But know that if such a relationship continues, your line will end with you.”

Jaime’s eyes widen. “Are you threatening to kill me?” he asks incredulously.

“Of course not,” Brienne snaps and wonders where she’s finding the courage to speak so sharply. With a sword in her hand, she would feel no fear for she could defeat the man in front of her ten times over--of that she has no doubt--but this is a war of words and a war for her future. These stakes feel a hundred times greater than any moment she faced the enemy on the battlefield.

“Then what, exactly, are you threatening?” Jaime growls.

“I am saying this marriage shall remain unconsummated and I shall give you no children so long as you continue to lay with your sister. And no, before you ask it, I shall never acknowledge any child you may have with your sister nor pretend it is mine.”

Jaime’s face is expressionless as he stares at her.

“You are the last of your family as well,” Jaime says slowly. “You are willing to let your own line die just to spite me?”

Brienne’s smile is cool. “Unlike you, Your Grace, I can easily have a child and claim it as yours. ‘Tis easier to lie about the father of a child than it is to lie about the mother.”

Jaime’s eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t dare,” he growls.

Brienne’s gaze never wavers. “Do you wish to test me?”

“And what if I stay and bed you tonight? I could get you with child and then flee to my sister’s arms.”

“So you could,” Brienne says calmly, “and I’m surprised you are bright enough to think of it. But I have no more desire to bed you than you have to bed me.”

“I could force myself on you.”

She smirks at that. “You could try,” she says, “but I doubt your sister will have any use for you if you’re gelded.”

Jaime glares.

“Princess Cersei is to be wed--again--on the morrow and she and her new husband will leave immediately after,” Brienne says briskly, “but I am not a cruel woman. Go to your sister, if it pleases you, but tell her it will be the last night the two of you will share. I have not fought so hard for my realm to simply be a downtrodden wife, even if the world calls me Queen.”

“And I have not fought so hard for _my_ realm to simply be a downtrodden husband, even if the world calls me King. I love my sister. I will never love you.”

“I don’t need you to love me,” Brienne snaps. “I demand you respect me. So long as you are not faithful to the vows you made in front of the Seven, then I shall give you no children that are yours by blood.”

“As if you can find any man who would fuck you,” Jaime sneers.

“There are many who will want to fuck the Queen no matter what she looks like,” Brienne sneers in reply. She strides across the bedchamber to the door opposite the one they entered through. She opens it and finds a dressing room and another door that she hopes leads to her private bedchamber. She turns to look at her new husband. There’s no doubt he’s beautiful and no doubt he will never love her, but she will have his respect even if she will have nothing else.

“Enjoy your evening, Your Grace,” she says with a mocking bow, and walks into the dressing room, closing and locking the door behind her. Thankfully, she had guessed correctly regarding the second door. She locks herself inside her private bedchamber then walks, trembling, to the bed and throws herself on top of it.

This marriage is doomed to failure, she thinks in despair. She only prays the need to maintain the peace between their kingdoms will be enough to keep her alive.

*/*/*/*/*

“Are you simply going to let her treat you like that?”

Jaime struggles not to roll his eyes. “Must we argue?” he sighs instead, putting his hands on his sweet sister’s shapely shoulders. “We only have tonight and then you’ll be wed to another and on your way North.”

Cersei wrenches away from his grasp and flounces towards the bed. “And whose fault is that?”

“Our father’s,” Jaime says flatly, “just as it is his fault I’m married to that great creature from the Stormlands.”

Cersei turns and thoughtfully considers him, her beautiful green eyes coldly calculating. “There is no need for you to be married to her for long,” she purrs and he narrows his own eyes.

“I need a legitimate heir,” he says, “and the realm as a whole needs peace.”

“And so we are sold off like cattle to the highest bidders!” Cersei says bitterly.

“At least you will be Queen once you marry King Eddard. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

Cersei flies to him and flings herself into his arms. “Do you think all I care for is the title?”

_Yes_ , he thinks cynically, but knows better than to speak the word aloud. Not that it matters, truly. If King Selwyn had had a son instead of a daughter, Cersei would have been wed to him and the two kingdoms would have been united just the same. It simply sweetens the peace treaty for their father that the Southron Kings will be named Lannister and not Tarth.

“Come with me, Jaime,” Cersei pleads, startling him. “Renounce your farce of a marriage, reject the Southron Throne! Declare yourself willing to join Eddard Stark’s Kingsguard and accompany us to Winterfell! Let Tarth have the Southron Throne if it means so much to her family.”

Jaime bites back a harsh laugh. Cersei does not appreciate being mocked and if the wedding tomorrow is to be accomplished without incident, ‘tis best if he keeps her sweet.

“You know I can’t do that, Cersei,” he says, wrapping his arms round her lithe body and pulling her close against him.

She tries to pull away but he only tightens his hold.

“You love the throne more than you love me,” she spits as she struggles against him. “You just want to be King!”

“I want _peace_ ,” he snarls. “I want an end to battles and blood and the suffering of the smallfolk. If it wouldn’t cause more problems than it would solve, I would have married you in front of the Seven years ago and damn the world, but we wouldn’t have survived five minutes after the ceremony, and you know it. Renounce the throne? Run away with you to Winterfell? Do you think Good King Eddard Stark will tolerate being a cuckold? Let alone an incestuous affair?” He gives Cersei a small shake and almost wants to stay, almost wants to throw his sister on the bed and fuck her until she screams his name.

The gods know, his body is willing and straining towards hers…and mayhaps it would keep Cersei calm enough for the ceremony tomorrow to be completed.

But he swore vows in the Great Sept today and while he has no love for the giant ugly creature forced upon him, he finds he cannot quite bring himself to break those promises so easily. Their marriage is not what he wants, and he has no doubt they will both take lovers as the years march on, but on their wedding night?

No.

Even if the only reason he’s reluctant to do so is because Tarth is so sure he will. Her remarkably pretty eyes had been filled with contempt as she’d swept out of his bedchamber.

“Jaime?” Cersei’s sharp voice cuts through his distraction. “Are you listening to me?”

He smiles a pained smile. “I was imagining all the things I’d love to do to you tonight,” he says.

Cersei preens and she rewards him with a deep kiss before she slips away from his embrace.

“You mustn’t stay much longer,” she teases. “My ladies will soon return and we can’t be found fucking.”

Jaime’s smile is bitter. “No? Aren’t you the one who thinks my renouncing my birthright and following you to Winterfell would not rouse anyone’s suspicions?”

Cersei’s eyes sharpen into green shards of glass. “What do you want from me, Jaime? Do you want me to refuse this marriage and stay here with you?”

Jaime’s blood runs cold. “And deny you the title of Queen? I love you too much to deny you anything you want, Cersei.”

“Yes, I’ll be Queen--but it’s the North, Jaime! So far away from you! And warmth!”

Jaime’s heart twists a little with sympathy. He goes to Cersei and tugs her gently into his arms and kisses her. He understands his Father’s reasoning for this second marriage; he even agrees with it. But Cersei is still his sister, his lover, and he still loves her, still wants her, even after all she has done, even after all that has happened.

He kisses her again and bears her down to the bed.

Tomorrow she’ll be out of his reach, he thinks, and he’s relieved, even as his heart shatters along with his resolve to honor his newly made marriage vows.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne shifts uncomfortably, this dress fitting even worse than her so--called wedding gown the day before. She immediately stills when she catches sight of her father’s warning frown, although she feels even more awkward and ungainly as she stands beside her beautiful good--sister, facing her-- _gods_ \--equally beautiful husband, Prince Jaime, as they bear witness to Princess Cersei’s marriage to King Eddard Stark of the North. As King Ned swings his cloak over Cersei’s shoulders, the last element of the truce the Kings had negotiated is complete.

Brienne takes Prince Jaime’s arm and follows the newly--married couple out of the Great Sept and tries not to think of where _her_ new husband had been the night before--and she tries not to notice the grief and rage that’s fighting for dominance in his eyes as he looks at his sweet sister.

*/*/*/*/*

The wedding feast is pleasant enough, Brienne thinks, sipping delicately at her wine. She struggles not to hunch her shoulders, remembering Septa Roelle’s edict to sit up straight, even if she is an unsightly child. But it’s her years as Lord Commander on the battlefield that straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin despite her scarred face and how ridiculous she looks in this gods--bedamned gown. She had to earn her field command, she reminds herself, against those who held no love for her then or now. But she is now used to command, used to holding men’s lives in her hands, used to being looked to for orders and leadership, and this, she staunchly tells herself is no different.

No one speaks to her. Prince Jaime is on her right, and to his right is his sweet sister, who is seated next to her new husband. There is no one on Brienne’s left, and her father, King Selwyn, is to King Tywin’s right while King Eddard is to King Tywin’s left. There is a lovely young woman to King Selwyn’s right, and Brienne knows that if the young woman is willing, her father will have no time for anyone else the next few days.

She amuses herself with watching the high--born families in the Great Hall, reminding herself of their allegiances and the extent of the armies they can still put into the field of battle, even after all these years of war. She’s vaguely aware of Prince Jaime whispering with his sister, the tone of the whispers growing steadily more animated. She glances towards them and notices Cersei pouting as she turns to King Eddard while Jaime turns to glare at Brienne. Brienne scowls, wondering what she could possibly have done to cause him to glare at her so.

Jaime seems about to speak to her for the first time since they sat at the table, but King Tywin forestalls him.

“King Eddard,” King Tywin says, waving away the young messenger who had been whispering in his ear, “I have just received news that a late winter storm has begun raging outside. While I know you are no stranger to such weather, my sweet daughter is made of more delicate stuff. I ask that you and your new bride linger in King’s Landing until the storm clears.”

Brienne hears Jaime’s sharply indrawn breath as she feels the blood leave her own face.

King Eddard stands and bows. “I accept your invitation, Your Grace,” he says, his grey eyes solemn. “‘Tis just as well; I’m suddenly feeling ill, and would beg your leave to retire to our apartments with my new bride.”

The watching crowd hoots at the words, but Brienne sees the greenish cast to King Eddard’s skin. She realizes he’s speaking naught but the truth and is not simply hastening his and his wife’s arrival at the marriage bed. Mayhaps he’s as pleased to be married to Princess Cersei as she, Brienne, is pleased to be married to Prince Jaime.

And Cersei is to remain in King’s Landing for several more days.

Brienne grabs her wine goblet and takes a deep drink.

_“What are you doing?”_

She starts, spilling wine down her chin and splashing some on the sleeve of her dress. “I--I--I--I’m having some wine,” she stammers and immediately feels like a fool.

He grabs the goblet from her hand. “How much have you had?”

“I am not drunk, Your Grace, and I resent that you would think I am,” she hisses, glancing round to see if anyone is paying attention, but everyone is focused on King Eddard and the now--Queen Cersei as they make their way from the Great Hall. She turns back to Jaime and sways, suddenly dizzy.

Jaime’s smile is cruel as he calls for serving girls. “Help me with the Princess,” he orders.

“I don’t need--” Brienne says, and the world goes black.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne tries to move and finds her arms and legs are caught. She panics, remembering a slash to her face, of the horse falling beneath and above her, of the weight of the beast on top of her, trapping her so she is unable to move. There’s no pain, so she can’t have broken anything but to be unable to stand, to lift her arms to defend herself in the field of battle--

Her eyes fly open with a cry and she’s confused to see a ceiling made of stone above her. She’s cold, she thinks, and unable to move and for a heart--stopping moment, she wonders if the horse has broken her spine. She cries out again and tries to sit up and only then realizes she’s not paralyzed but tied to a bed, naked and spread--eagled.

She spins her panicked gaze round the room until it alights upon Jaime, sitting on a chair at a table, a goblet of wine at his elbow, his green eyes cold as he watches her without expression.

It takes a long moment for her to understand what is happening and then she groans and lowers her head back to the bed and closes her eyes. She has another moment of sheer terror that Jaime has simply taken what he needs from her body, but she forces herself to calm enough to do an assessment of her body. There’s no sharp pain between her legs, the pain Septa Roelle assured her is the worst pain outside childbirth for an unnatural woman like her. The realization Jaime has not yet forced himself upon her makes her limbs liquid with relief.

She swallows and only then realizes she’s thirsty.

She again opens her eyes and looks as calmly as she can at the man sitting and watching her with an impossible--to--read expression.

She swallows again and says, “Wine?”

He stands without a word and dribbles some wine into her mouth. She swallows and coughs on it, then licks it from her lips and he turns abruptly away, cloak swirling, to put the goblet on the table beside him. He gracefully retakes his seat and Brienne has the childish wish that the chair would break beneath his arse and tumble him unceremoniously to the ground. But the chair holds and after a moment, he lifts his gaze to hers.

“The wedding feast?” she croaks out. “You drugged the wine?”

His shrug is nonchalant.

They stare at each other for another long, silent moment and Brienne realizes with surprise that she’s not even angry. She wounded his pride, threatened to cuckold him and place another man’s children on the Southron Throne. No man could hear such threats, do nothing, and still call himself a man. Let alone the Prince of the Realm, heir to the Throne. What he’s doing with his sister may be an abomination in the eyes of the gods, but he’s still going to be King someday, with all the pride and arrogance such a future breeds in a man.

“Why haven’t you raped me yet?” she asks.

He lifts an eyebrow. “Who says I haven’t?” he purrs.

Her eyes widen and fear spikes through her--but no. There’s still none of the never--ending pain her septa had described to her.

“But...it doesn’t hurt,” she blurts and now it’s his eyes that go wide.

“Well,” he says slowly, “the pain is fleeting, so I’m told. Not that it matters. You are correct, Your Grace: I have not raped you while you slept. This--” he waves one graceful hand indicating her naked body sprawled lewdly on the bed and she flushes “--is a mere demonstration of exactly how much power you have in this marriage.”

Brienne glares as the last of the drug clears from her mind. “You may have a small measure of physical power over me, Your Grace, but that is not the only power that is in this marriage.”

“If you try to pass another man’s child as mine, I will have your head,” Jaime says softly, which only makes the threat more terrifying.

“If you continue to fuck your sister, I will have _your_ head--and I do not mean the one on your shoulders.”

That takes him aback and his lips twitch towards a smile before he catches himself. “So you know something about male anatomy,” he purrs.

“I was a Lord Commander leading an army,” she growls in return. “Of course I know something about male anatomy.”

“But apparently nothing about the female one,” he says thoughtfully, and his eyes gleam.

He stands and strolls towards her and she forces herself not to cringe away from him. She does flinch when he reaches out but he simply frees one of her hands and steps away from the bed. He returns to his chair while she quickly unties herself and wraps the blanket round her naked body.

He says, “I have no desire to fuck an unconscious woman, whether she’s threatened to cuckold and geld me or not. But I do want us to come to some kind of truce.”

“Truce?” she practically spits. “You drugged me, stripped me naked, tied me to my bed, threatened me with rape!”

“And you have threatened to erase my family line from existence!” He leans forward, green eyes gleaming. “And one thing you should have learned from facing me in the field of battle, Your Grace: _I will do whatever it takes to win_.”

Brienne rolls from the bed, cocooned in the blanket. She walks to the table and glares down at the infuriating, gorgeous man.

“So will I,” she growls and points at the wine. “Is that drugged, too? Or is it something I can use to quench my thirst?”

He smirks as he pours some wine and drinks it. “Satisfied?”

“For now,” she says and pours her own small measure and drinks it quickly, then pours herself another, slightly larger measure, as she thoughtfully considers him. “A truce,” she says.

“Like it or not, we are now husband and wife, and in due time, we shall be King and Queen of Westeros. Our fathers arranged this marriage so the realm can have peace. Do you truly wish to tear it apart any further?”

“If I wished to continue the war, I would have refused the marriage,” Brienne says.

Jaime nods. “I would have done the same. I agreed because the smallfolk need peace. They need a King and a Queen who will at least work together, if nothing else.”

Brienne takes an almost delicate sip of her wine. “Truce,” she says again, thoughtfully. “Mayhaps I am willing to strike a bargain.”

He raises an eyebrow as he, too, pours himself another glass of wine and sips it. “A bargain.”

“I will give you the heirs you need, Your Grace, for the sake of the realm. Two sons.”

He smirks. “And you will not stop trying until you give me two sons, is that the bargain?”

Her own smirk is almost as cynical as his. “It depends on how long you wish to uphold your end of the bargain.”

“And what is to be my end of the bargain?”

She leans over him, knowing her size and the scars on her face are enough to intimidate even Prince Jaime--although to his credit, he doesn’t move.

“So long as you are fucking me, you will not fuck your sister or any other woman. You will not stand for being a cuckold; why would you think I would stand for it, either?”

Jaime snorts a little. “I’ve seen you naked now, Princess. You are no man. You cannot be cuckolded.”

“I will not pretend to turn a blind eye to your affairs, Your Grace,” she snaps. “You want heirs of your blood? That is my bargain. Do your duty, and remain faithful until such time as there are enough heirs to the Southron Throne, and you can be assured the children will be yours.”

“You ask me to forsake my sister for you?” Jaime sneers.

“I ask you to delay satisfying your own selfish desires for the sake of the realm,” she growls. “With luck, I shall fall pregnant quickly and give you two sons within two years. And then, Your Grace, we shall both be free to pursue our own happiness.”

Jaime thoughtfully considers her. “I agree,” he says slowly.

She straightens. “Do you give me your word?”

“I swear that from this moment until you give me two sons, I will honour our wedding vows and remain faithful to you.”

She nods. “I accept your oath. It will be easier for you to keep it, of course, once your sweet sister is in the North.”

“The storm is already waning,” he says lightly. “She and her new husband will likely be on their way in the morning.”

Brienne nods again. “Good.”

Jaime smirks and raises an eyebrow, his eyes slowly travelling down the length of her body then back up again to meet her gaze. “Should we do our duty now?”

She glares, her cheeks glowing hot. “Get out.”

He laughs as he leaves.

*/*/*/*/*

Cersei flies to him as soon as he closes the door.

“Jaime,” she pleads, her hands clutching at his shoulders, his arms, his neck, “you _must_ convince Father to let me stay here! That _fool_ he married me to is already out of his sick bed and bleating once more about returning north!”

Jaime gently sets her away from him. “The bedding was not to your liking, sweet sister?”

She slaps him, her palm stinging across his cheek.

“Don’t be an ass,” she snaps. “You know I took steps to ensure there would be no bedding!” She softens. “You know I cannot stomach anyone but you in my arms,” she says, as prettily as any maid.

“Is that why you tried to kill the King of the North while he was at his own wedding feast, sitting at the Lannister table? Is that why you tried to kill my new bride _at the same time?_ Do you _want_ this hellish war to continue forever?”

Cersei’s beautiful face twists, becomes something ugly. “Someone had to do something, and _you_ were doing nothing--as usual! We are not cattle, Jaime, to be bought and sold to the highest bidder!”

“We have been bought and sold to ensure peace! If I hadn’t ordered King Eddard to be purged--and if Princess Brienne had finished her wine--we would both be in the black cells right now!”

“Father would never allow it!”

“ _Father wants peace!_ Just like I do! Just like King Eddard and King Selwyn! Just like Princess Brienne and the high--borns who sit in our Great Hall; just like the girl who washes your sheets and the boy who shovels the shit from our stables! Just like _everyone except you_ , it seems! If you had succeeded in your plan, Father would have executed us both, married the first girl he was offered, and replaced us with children who would be less painfully _stupid_!” He grabs Cersei’s shoulders, and gives her a single, hard shake. “For the love of the Seven,” he growls, “use what little mind the gods gave you! Let the King live! Go North as Queen! Whelp him a cub or two, and _then_ rid yourself of him if it pleases you so much!”

He releases her with contemptuous shove.

“And what of you, sweet brother?” Cersei’s eyes are cold, her lips sneering. “Will you rid yourself of that cow you’ve married once she’s borne a litter or two of _your_ cubs? Is that… _creature…_ really who you wish to have as your Queen? As the mother of your children?”

Jaime steps closer, overshadowing his twin with his height and bulk. “Princess Brienne is my wife,” he growls, “which means she’s mine to do with as I please. _Mine!_ I took steps to ensure she blames me and not you for what happened, but you overstepped yourself last night, Cersei. Do not do it again.”

Cersei does not back away. “Watch your words with me, Jaime,” she purrs. “Remember who I am and what I’ve done. Remember to whom you belong. Remember who is your rightful Queen.”

There’s a deadness in her eyes that causes a shiver to go down his spine.

He straightens and takes a step away. There’s an almost sadistic triumph on his sister’s face and it takes all his willpower not to clench his hands into fists. He takes a deep breath and wonders again how one can so love someone and yet so hate them at the same time.

He wonders how he could have been so blind for so long.

“The carriage is waiting for you,” he grates out and turns away. “Dress warmly; I would hate to hear you caught a chill on the way North.”

*/*/*/*/*

Cersei’s been gone several days when Jaime goes in search of Brienne and finds her in the frozen mud of the training yard, sparring with Sandor Clegane. Clegane is skilled, larger than Brienne and strong with it, but Brienne is faster, quicker and simply _better_ , and Jaime can’t help granting her a grudging respect and admiration for the same strength and skill he had once cursed while on a bloody battlefield.

He lurks in the shadows of the armory until Brienne finally disarms Clegane and they remove their helms. Brienne is grinning and even Sandor has something on his face that might be considered a smile as Brienne claps a hand on his shoulder.

“Good contest, ser,” she says, trying to catch her breath, sweat leaving her straw--like hair plastered to her forehead and against her neck.

“Someday I shall win, Lord Commander,” Clegane rumbles.

Brienne laughs and Jaime’s eyes narrow at the sound. He thought the woman didn’t know how to laugh.

“I have no doubt you will,” Brienne says, her grin making the jagged, thin scar across her left cheek twist and dance. “Nobody wins every battle.”

Jaime’s eyes narrow even more when he realizes Sandor Clegane-- _Sandor Clegane--_ is, yes, actually grinning as he says, “Until tomorrow, then, Lord Commander?”

“Aye,” she says, “until tomorrow.”

They turn towards the armory and both stop short when Jaime steps from the doorway into the training yard. Their grins freeze then fade. Jaime’s eyes flick from a wary Brienne to a now stone--faced Sandor and back to her.

“I wondered where you were off to in such a hurry this morning, Your Grace,” Jaime says, his voice silky smooth.

Brienne raises an eyebrow. “If you would listen to me when I speak, Your Grace, you would know I always make my way here after breakfast.”

Jaime’s eyes are cold as he turns his attention to Clegane. “Are you my wife’s preferred sparring partner, ser?”

“Aye,” Clegane rumbles. “I’m one of the few who are strong enough for her. _Your Grace_.”

Jaime’s eyes narrow at the man’s insolence before he dismisses him with a sharp movement of his head.

Jaime’s ire grows when instead of immediately leaving them, Clegane gives Brienne a searching look. She gives him a small nod. Clegane flicks a contemptuous glare over him then offers them a scant bow and strides away.

Jaime waits until Clegane is out of earshot before he turns to Brienne.

“Have you found the man you will use to cuckold me?”

Her jaw drops, then her eyes spark with rage. “You have already dishonored your vows to me in this marriage, Your Grace.”

“I have since given you my word--”

“Your word,” Brienne snorts and stomps past him. “Your word will evaporate like snow in the spring once you see... _her_ again. The only hope you have of keeping your word to me is to keep away from _her_ until I’ve given you the heirs I’ve promised you.”

“And if you don’t?”

She spins and glares and for a moment Jaime wonders if she’s going to try to kill him with the tourney sword in her hand. From the look on her face, she’d likely succeed.

“Why did you seek me out, Jaime?” she almost spits.

“We have received visitors from Dorne. Prince Oberyn Martell, his consort, Ellaria Sand, and his niece, Princess Arianne Martell, have arrived to pay their respects upon news of our marriage.”

Brienne’s glare turns to dismay. “Wonderful,” she groans.

*/*/*/*/*

Oberyn Martell and his consort ooze sexuality, and Jaime’s not certain if he’s more uncomfortable with the way they look at Princess Brienne, the way they look at him, or the way they look at the two of them together. Mayhaps he should advise Princess Brienne to put extra fortifications against her door while the Prince and Ellaria are in King’s Landing.

He again notices Oberyn’s and Ellaria’s interested stares in his direction.

Mayhaps he should do the same.

Prince Oberyn and his consort, along with his niece, Arianne, have been paying court for several days; have said all the right words of congratulations, and have even expressed blatantly false regret at arriving too late to also extend their best wishes to King Eddard and his new Queen. Considering Prince Oberyn had once vowed to kill Queen Cersei with his bare hands the moment he again laid eyes on her, Jaime is reluctantly impressed with the man’s acting--and his self--control.

For a moment, Jaime sees, once again, poor Elia Martell’s features twisted in agony even in death. Her murder and Cersei’s subsequent marriage to the last of the Targaryens are some of what led to the longest and bloodiest war in Westeros history.

Not to mention Rhaegar’s sudden, inexplicable passion for Lyanna Stark that took everyone by surprise. Who knew such a milksop of a man even knew what passion was?

Jaime sips his wine and wonders if King Eddard has taken his words of caution to heart and employed a food--taster. More fool him, if he has not. Although mayhaps the King in the North will need to be more wary of the contingent of Lannister men, led by Ser Gregor Clegane, who were sent as a gift to the Queen.

He watches as Prince Oberyn turns his attentions to Princess Brienne and reduces her to an embarrassed, tongue--tied lump within one, no doubt witty, turn of phrase. Although--Jaime’s eyes narrow--there seems to be a glimmer of amusement on Brienne’s blazing red face.

Brienne’s eyes flick to him and she freezes, like a rabbit in front of a snake. She truly has beautiful eyes, he thinks, but they’re blue, not the green he has sworn so many times to love until his death. He helped send Cersei away; he wonders if that frees him from that promise. He wonders what would happen if he were to beg the High Septon for his counsel on the matter.

He can’t quite stop the bitter twist to his lips at the thought.

So many stains on his soul, so many things he’s done…so many things he failed to do, all in the name of love. He’d be lucky if the High Septon simply removed his head without torturing him first.

And despite it all, he thinks as he continues to hold Brienne’s gaze, a part of him still loves his sweet sister. Still yearns for her, for the girl she was, for the girl he had believed her to be.

He was relieved to see Cersei go but Brienne is right: he would never be able to resist his sweet sister if she were here. He knows he needs must bed his bride, but Cersei is not yet far enough away.

There shall be no bedding tonight, he thinks, his expression growing cold as he stares at his wife. Brienne’s eyes widen and he’s shamed that he cannot be kinder to her. Then he’s angry because he’s ashamed and he abruptly turns his face away.

He does not look at her again.

*/*/*/*/*

“Where are your ladies--in--waiting?” King Selwyn says.

Brienne glances up from the book she is reading and blinks at his question.

He is slouched in his chair, a flagon of mead at his elbow. He says he has not yet grown so used to his royal status as to forego mead for wine at all times. His eyes, so like her own, are watching her with shrewd intelligence.

“I don’t need ladies--in--waiting,” she says, lowering the book. “I’m no lady.”

Selwyn grunts something that might have been amusement. “You may not be a lady, but you are a Princess, and the next Queen of an eventually reunited southron Westeros. King Tywin will not live forever--nor shall I. I will also be leaving for Tarth in the next few days and you will be alone here, with the Lannisters. You needs must begin to surround yourself with a court you can trust...or at least one you understand how to manipulate.”

Brienne stares at him in horror. “I have no desire to play such games, Father!”

“You have no choice, child. You either learn to play the game or the game plays you. You are going to be Queen and you do not have the choice to pretend you can ignore it all.”

*/*/*/*/*

King Selwyn departs for the Stormlands several days later. His formal leave--taking takes place in the Great Hall, with all the pomp and circumstance befitting a King.

Brienne takes her private leave of him in the blustery cold of the Red Keep’s courtyard. King Selwyn throws off his royal mien to wrap his arms round Brienne and hug her as tightly as he can. It is odd, she thinks, burrowing against him. He is a head shorter than she is, yet when he hugs her like this, she is naught but a small girl who still believes her father is powerful enough to stand against the entire world.

He releases her and she notes with surprise that he has tears in his eyes. He blinks rapidly, and clears his throat.

“You are the only child the gods granted me with my beloved wife, your beautiful mother,” he says, his voice gruff. “You have my eyes and my unfortunate teeth.” He grins, showing off his crooked teeth, and she laughs. “You may have taken after me in those respects, but you have your mother’s look, and--warrior or no; Lord Commander or no--you have her gentle soul and soft heart. You are my only child, and I could not bear to see you perish on the battlefield, which is the only reason I agreed to the terms of this truce.” He reaches up and cups her cheek, his thumb gently tracing the scar left by a sword in some battle or other. “Whether you will win your war with the child--bed when your time comes, well. That is up to the gods. But I have more hope you shall survive that than if we had continued that blasted, useless war.”

Selwyn turns as Jaime strolls up to them to more personally wish his good--father a safe journey.

“This is my only child,” Selwyn says when Jaime finishes speaking. Selwyn’s voice is once again turning gruff, his eyes boring into Jaime. “I leave her in your care. I leave her under your protection.”

“Father,” Brienne says, gently, blinking away the moisture in her eyes, “look at me. I need no man’s protection.”

“I shall beg it from my good--son anyway.”

Jaime bows, deeply. “You have my word,” he says.

And with that, King Selwyn Tarth hugs her one last time, then mounts his horse and rides out of the Red Keep.

*/*/*/*/*

In the days that follow, in between entertaining--or mayhaps fending off--the emissaries from Dorne, Brienne worries at her father’s words regarding her ladies--in--waiting. Whether she likes it or no, he’s right. While she will never be the Queen the smallfolk expected or wanted, she has a duty to be a good Queen, nonetheless, and one way to do that is to strengthen her family’s alliances with the highborn families loyal to the southron Throne.

Besides, worrying on who should be the first to be invited into her inner circle distracts her from worrying on her marriage. She and Jaime have yet to consummate their union, but she’s more than willing to delay it for as long as she can. Jaime is a beautiful man--Brienne cannot deny that--and she knows that other women find pleasure in the marriage bed. But for an unnatural woman like her--over--large and ugly and mannish…

Brienne is no stranger to pain: she has been slashed by swords, broken her bones, been trapped beneath the heavy weight of her dying war horse. She sometimes wakes, screaming, with the smell of blood in her nostrils and the shrieks of the wounded in her ears…yet she still cringes away from what she will face in the marriage bed. Septa Roelle has always taught her the pain a woman like Brienne experiences is worse than the worst pain anyone could imagine. If only Brienne was a different kind of woman, Septa Roelle would say, and heave a mournful sigh, tears standing in her eyes.

Brienne clings to her only glimmer of hope: that she will be lucky enough to fall pregnant immediately and therefore escape the agony of the marriage bed within a few years.

Assuming a woman such as her can fall pregnant at all.

But those are worries for another day, she thinks grimly. She, unfortunately, needs to gather a court of ladies round her.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne carefully considers the surviving high--born families and their daughters for several days, then reluctantly decides she needs must approach Jaime for his counsel. It’s not that she trusts him, or that the tension between them has eased to any great degree.

She simply has no one else she can ask for advice.

She invites him to ride with her outside the city walls, and she suspects he agrees out of pure surprise.

“Ladies--in--waiting?” he says, his brows wrinkling in confusion once she explains her dilemma.

“Since my skills as a warrior and Lord Commander are no longer as needed, I needs must build my relationships with the Houses outside the Stormlands.”

“And you have asked me to ride with you because...?”

“What Houses do we need to soothe, Your Grace? What Houses do we need to subtly threaten? I am more used to solving my problems with a sword and an army, but now it appears my fate is to learn to use a woman’s weapons in order to strengthen our children’s hold on the southron Throne.”

There’s a flash of amusement on Jaime’s face at Brienne’s disgruntled demeanor and tone, and she can’t help but smile a little in response. She knows she’s being ridiculous.

“I have no one else to advise me, Your Grace,” she says, “and my role is to support you as much as it is to support our children.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow. “Is that now part of our bargain?” he says drily.

Brienne gives him a haughty glare. “It was the bargain we made when we spoke our vows in the Great Sept,” she says, then softens. “I am as sick of war as anyone.”

They ride in surprisingly comfortable silence for long minutes and Brienne starts to relax. She even cautiously allows her hopes to rise that this union may actually grow to be...cordial. She is no beauty, though men and women call her so with mocking faces, but she does have other strengths to bring to the marriage.

“I am a strong Lord Commander,” she says abruptly and Jaime startles a little and turns a surprised face in her direction. She continues, “I bring the second largest army on the continent at my back and upon my father’s death--may it be long in the future--his bannermen will swear fealty to me.”

Jaime’s usually stern mouth twitches towards a smile. “I, too, am a strong Lord Commander. I bring the largest army on the continent at my back and upon my father’s death--may it be long in the future--I shall be King. Your bannermen will swear fealty to me instead.”

Brienne clamps down on her urge to knock him from his horse with one swoop of her arm. It would do him good if his arrogant arse were to land in the mud.

She grits her teeth, and says, “The North has always been friendly with the Stormlands, as has Dorne.”

“I have the Reach, the Westerlands, the Crownlands and the Riverlands,” he says, bored, and she eyes him suspiciously. He sounds almost too bored.

“I do not have the Ironborn,” she slowly says.

“Nor I,” he says.

“Nor do I want them,” they say together and then stop and share a cautiously amused glance.

Brienne’s shoulders relax a little more.

“You seem determined to expand upon the dowry your father bestowed upon you,” Jaime says.

Brienne says, “Despite the unfortunate beginnings of our union and the threats we’ve made on either side--”

“Are you including my drugging you and tying you naked to the bed with the ‘unfortunate beginnings’, or with the ‘threats’?”

She flushes a deep, dark red. “The threats, of course,” she says stiffly.

“Of course.” He glances away, his mouth quirking again into a smile. “So despite the recent past...?”

She clears her throat. “Yes. Despite the recent past, I want our marriage to be...tolerable. For both of us. And I do bring strengths to the union that I think benefit the realm once our two Kingdoms merge together.”

“Ah,” he says softly, “therefore the army, bannermen, and allegiances with other Kingdoms.”

She nods and looks away, feeling foolish. It’s nothing, after all, that he didn’t already know.

They ride again in silence and then Jaime says, “They are not small, these strengths you cite, and I have not been as kind to you as mayhaps you deserve.”

She blinks surprised eyes at him.

“You are very young, are you not?” he continues.

“I have seen twenty--three years, Your Grace,” she says defensively, “and the last three have been leading men in battle. I am not as young as all that!”

He chuckles, soft and low. There seems to be no mockery in it although it sounds rusty and seems to surprise even him. “I am thirty--six, Your Grace,” and now there is mockery in the title, “and have been on the battlefield since I was sixteen. That’s twenty years. Almost longer than you’ve been alive. You are practically a child.”

Brienne frowns, then blurts out, “How is it you have not wed earlier?”

Jaime shrugs. “Cersei,” he says simply, and something inside her shrivels. “While I am now willing to do my duty whenever you wish to invite me into your bed, you will be the first woman I have touched other than Cersei. In my youth, I was even more single--minded in my devotion to her. And...” he trails off, scowling.

Brienne rides in silence, waiting, until finally Jaime sighs.

“I have been betrothed thrice before,” he says.

Brienne gives him a startled look. “Oh?”

“Let us just say that I have been...unlucky.”

She frowns. “Did they, too, learn of Cersei and break the betrothals?”

“All died before we could be wed,” he says flatly.

“Oh,” she says again, then, “oh. I’m sorry.”

“As was I,” Jaime sighs. “Melara was a pretty little thing, delicate and biddable. She would have been a lovely wife although whether she would have survived the child--bed…well. It never came to that. Lysa was also a lovely girl, shy and quiet, but with red hair that promised fire beneath the placid surface. Margaery was but a child, sixteen and pretty and sweet, but with her grandmother’s iron will, I think, well--hidden from prying eyes.”

“‘Tis a pity none lived long enough to wed you and mayhaps give you the heir your father desires.”

“The heir I also desire, Your Grace. Do not think it matters naught to me.”

She swallows heavily. “I don’t,” she says softly.

“Good. The true strength you bring to this union, Brienne, is whatever strength hides in your belly. I need strong, healthy sons. Legitimate heirs. That is what the realm needs, not your armies or your allegiances.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne sends ravens to a small cadre of highborn women, inviting them to court, and a moon after their arrival, Prince Oberyn and Ellaria announce they will be returning to Dorne. Princess Arianne, to Brienne’s surprise, prettily begs to stay for a while longer, and Oberyn agrees. Two days later, Oberyn and Ellaria leave King’s Landing with many protestations of regret and gratitude.

Brienne stands by Jaime’s side as their guests depart.

Princess Arianne turns to her. “I love my uncle,” she says, “but he is a bit overpowering, is he not?”

Brienne blinks. “The Prince is very charming,” she says.

“But not as charming as _your_ prince,” Arianne says, giving Jaime a knowing, teasing smile.

Brienne blushes and Arianne laughs.

“Would you like to join me for a ride, Your Grace?” Arianne says and glances from Jaime to Brienne and back again. “Either of Your Graces,” she says and now her smile is wicked.

Jaime’s eyebrow rises while Brienne’s stomach drops.

“Yes,” she says, too loudly, and clears her throat. “Yes, I would love to go for a ride. But I wish to have a private word with my husband before we go.”

“Of course,” Arianne says. “Shall we meet at the stables?”

Brienne nods.

They watch the lovely young woman disappear in the direction of the stables, then Jaime says, “What did you wish to speak on?”

Brienne jumps a little and wonders what madness has gripped her. But she cannot deny it’s time.

She straightens her shoulders and turns to face him.

“We have been married for two moons,” she says.

“I know.”

She scowls then says, “We have made a bargain. You have upheld your end of it, so far. The sooner we…” She stops, swallowing heavily, her face flaming as she looks despairingly in the direction Arianne had disappeared. She clears her throat again and says, “The sooner we…we…”

“Fuck?” Jaime drawls.

Brienne feels as if the skin of her face is actually on fire. “Yes,” she says. “The sooner we…do that, the sooner our bargain will be complete and you will be free to…to…do as you will.” She can’t help but glance after Arianne again before meeting his gaze.

Jaime’s eyes are filled with unholy amusement. “Are you inviting me into your bed, Brienne?” he purrs.

“When you are ready to join me in my bed, Your Grace, I will not say no.”

*/*/*/*/*

That night, Brienne’s beneath her blankets, reaching to extinguish the lantern, when Jaime opens their connecting door and steps into the room, startling her.

She freezes when she sees him and thinks he somehow still manages to look magnificent even when clad in an ostentatious brocade bed--robe embroidered with fanciful lions and suns.

She gapes and he smirks.

“You promised to do your duty,” he purrs as he prowls towards the bed.

She gulps, all the horrible warnings Septa Roelle had given her crowding into her brain, and she has a sudden urge to leap from the bed and run for her life.

But she is a Lord Commander, she tells herself staunchly. She has crossed swords with this very man on a bloody battlefield. Surely the womanly pain that is to be her lot in the bedchamber cannot be worse than the bite of a sword or the blow from a mailed hand.

And she is not craven. She will... _endure_.

She nods. “Yes, Your Grace,” she says and Jaime barks a harsh, cruel laugh and shrugs out of his robe.

She gulps at the sight of his naked body, at the sight of his cock, jutting from his body.

She had been a Lord Commander of an army for three years; the naked male body is no longer a surprise to her--but she’s never been this close to a naked man, let alone one as well--formed as Jaime. He’s slightly shorter than she is, but he’s broad of shoulder, slim in the hips, with a well--defined chest and torso, and arms that ripple with muscle with every movement as he pulls back the blanket and slides onto the bed beside her.

She gulps again as he laughs at her wide, terrified eyes and she quickly smooths her expression, lays flat on her back and waits, her eyes fixed on the ceiling above her and her hands clenched into fists by her side.

After a long moment where neither of them move, she remembers what some knight had told her years ago, and says, “Will this work better if I douse the lantern?”

“I don’t know, Brienne,” Jaime says, “will it?”

She risks a look at him and finds him watching her with an almost baffled rueful expression.

“Yes?” she says. “You--you wouldn’t have to see my face, then, and I’ve been told all women are the same in the dark.”

“I find that difficult to believe,” he says drily and she flushes as she remembers Cersei’s ample breasts as compared to her own small mounds of flesh. She will never be mistaken for a beautiful woman, not even in the dark.

Still...better the dark; it will hide her tears if she finds the pain unbearable.

She surges up and quickly blows out the lantern, plunging the room into semi--darkness, lit only by the banked fire in the hearth.

She lays back down, fixes her eyes once more upon the ceiling and says, “I’m ready.”

His chuckle is low and husky and wisps across her nerve endings, making her tremble. “You are far from ready,” he purrs and then he’s looming over her and before she realizes what he intends, he’s kissing her.

She hadn’t expected kissing and she startles at the touch of his mouth against hers. He tangles his fingers in her hair to hold her still and then his mouth is hard and demanding against hers, and the first touch of his tongue against her lips makes her gasp. He takes advantage of her surprise to plunder her mouth and she’s frozen with shock.

He lifts his head and even in the semi--darkness, he’s beautiful as he glares down at her, his eyes glittering.

“Have you never been kissed?” he growls.

“I--Ser Owen Inchfield stole a kiss once,” she stammers. “I pushed him into the campfire.”

Jaime’s teeth flash in a grin. “It must not have been a very good kiss,” he says.

“It was meant in cruel jest,” she says flatly.

“This may be cruel in that this is something neither of us wished to do, but this is not a jest. You are my wife, my future Queen, and I must bed you.”

“I know. I said I’m ready.”

“Mayhaps, but I wish to ready you for my cock, not just for doing your duty.”

She blushes and scowls. “I don’t understand.”

Jaime sighs and gives her a surprisingly gentle kiss. “I know,” he says. “The first bedding is the worst, so I’m told, but I will do my best to make it as easy for you as possible.”

“Pain in the marriage bed is the lot in life for a woman like me,” Brienne intones, reciting the lessons Septa Roelle had given her. “I shall endure.”

He rears back at that, scowling, then he shakes his head. “We’ve spent too much time talking already,” he sighs and kisses her again.

What follows is confusing and revelatory. Jaime kicks off the blankets and tugs her nightclothes from her body, leaving her as bare as he is. It’s only the darkness of the room that allows her to retain some semblance of dignity. She finds the kissing rather...nice, once she gets used to it, only to be shocked again when his hand cups her meagre breast and his fingers play with her nipple. But that’s not as surprising as when he puts his mouth over her other nipple and suckles. She arches against him then apologizes only to have him laugh and kiss her to stop her words before he returns to her breast.

She’s only just getting used to such attentions when he slides his flattened hand down her torso, over her stomach, to tangle his fingers in the thick hair at the juncture of her thighs, before moving even lower.

She yelps and pushes him away.

“You’re not supposed to--what are you _doing_?”

“I’m making you ready for me,” he says, infuriatingly calm.

“I don’t understand!” she almost wails. “Just...just get it over with!”

“I will--but you have to let me do what I need to do.”

She’s thrumming with tension. She wants to punch him; she wants to run away. But she gave her word; she told him she would accept him whenever he joined her in her bed.

She reluctantly lays back down, and he laughs.

She flinches when his fingers go once again to the juncture of her thighs and she pulls in a sharp, hissing breath as his fingers explore those secret parts of her that only she has ever touched and even then, only with a wash cloth firmly between her fingers and her flesh.

She’s taut; rigid as a sword and embarrassed by the liquid she can feel beginning to gather between her thighs, easing the glide of his fingers against her.

“Do you like this?” he asks, his voice rough and husky. “What I’m doing?”

What an odd question, she thinks, and then he carefully pushes a finger inside her and she flinches.

“Brienne? I need you to tell me if I’m hurting you.”

“Pain is inevitable,” she mutters. “Septa Roelle told me all about what a woman like me can expect in the marriage bed.”

His fingers stop moving and she sees he’s frowning down at her.

“Mayhaps you’re right,” he says slowly. “Mayhaps we need to get this first bedding done as quickly as possible so your maidenly fears can be put to rest.”

Before she can reply, he’s kissing her again and his fingers are stroking between her thighs more urgently, and to her surprised relief, she finds that none of this is unpleasant. It’s mayhaps even enjoyable, although the liquid that is continuing to pool between her legs is embarrassing her.

She freezes again when Jaime moves over her, positioning himself between her thighs. She feels the blunt head of his cock at her entrance and she tenses even more as he slowly pushes his way inside.

There’s a brief moment of pressure as he enters her but any pain is fleeting and then he stills. She frowns up at him, feeling...full...but she is not in pain. She wonders when the agony Septa Roelle had promised she’d experience is supposed to begin.

Then Jaime begins to move, and this, at least, she understands from seeing her soldiers with their camp followers, and from the animals she’s seen rutting.

Jaime lifts her legs round his waist, and then he’s thrusting against her with a steady rhythm and this, too, is...nice. Certainly not painful and actually...well... _nice_. She rather likes the heavy feel of Jaime’s body on hers as he rocks against her. His thrusts speed up and she finds herself lifting her own hips to meet him and hopes he doesn’t mind. He speeds up even more and then he’s frantic as he works against her, his rhythm broken, until he thrusts one last time and freezes, shuddering against her, gasping, before he slowly relaxes on top of her.

She frowns up at the ceiling as his weight presses her into the mattress. She realizes her hands are clutching at the sheet beneath her and she relaxes, straightening her fingers. She’s not sure what she’s supposed to do with herself while Jaime is catching his breath, so she stays as still as possible and tries to make sense of what she has experienced.

She will have much to think on when he leaves her bed.

*/*/*/*/*

Over the next fortnight, Brienne and Jaime cautiously ease into a new routine. It’s pleasant enough, Brienne thinks as she goes for a ride outside of the city, comfortably clad in her armour with a sword by her side.

Brienne spars with Sandor Clegane each morning in the training yard, and when it’s time, Jaime finds her and escorts her back to their apartments so they can change clothes before attending King Tywin in the Throne Room. There, they, along with the King, hear the petitions of high--born and smallfolk alike. They watch and listen as King Tywin passes judgment and later discuss the King’s decisions and the reasons for them. When the King dismisses them from his presence, they go about their separate business, Jaime to his soldiers and Brienne to meet with the castellans of the Red Keep and King’s Landing. When she finishes with them, she spends her late afternoons with the high--born ladies who have arrived at her court, doing her best to build political alliances with the women and their families for her sweet husband and good father.

Brienne takes her duties seriously. She may not be a beauty, she tells herself grimly, but she _will_ be a good Queen, even if she wishes she could ride out with Jaime to inspect the army instead.

The one concession to her previous career as her father’s most successful Lord Commander is her early morning sparring sessions with Sandor Clegane. She feels most herself when she’s in the training yards, in her armour and with a sword in her hand, and she’s determined she will not lose her connection to the sword or to the Lord Commander she used to be. She pesters Jaime with questions about the army when they meet again in their apartment to ready themselves for dinner in the Great Hall, where they then sit on either side of his father at the High Table.

Every night, without fail, Jaime visits her in her bedchamber. She douses the lantern so he can do his duty before he leaves her alone to sleep in peace.

She’s still confused as to why the pain Septa Roelle told her about has not yet occurred. She’s grateful, but each night she is tense and wary, unable to relax as Jaime kisses her and touches her in ways that are becoming more familiar but are still...strange. She wants to believe the agony Septa Roelle assured her was the lot in life for women like her will never happen...but she cannot quite bring herself to trust.

As she turns her horse back towards the city and allows her to amble along, Brienne admits to herself that she _wants_ to trust. She feels almost weak when Jaime slips beneath the covers with her, and when he _touches_ her...it’s almost _pleasurable_ , although she’s hesitant to use that word to describe the strange sensations that build inside her when Jaime touches her breasts or her back or between her legs. His mouth on her breasts sends sharp flashes that feel like lightning through her body, and--

She abruptly spurs the horse into a gallop, trying to outrace her thoughts.

She must be mistaken, after all, she tells herself as the horse flies over the ground. There is no pleasure in the marriage bed, and even if there is, it is not for women like her.

Septa Roelle told her so.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime does his duty by Brienne and to his surprise, feels absurdly guilty when he leaves her bed each night. Some of the guilt is because there’s still a part of him that feels as if he’s betraying Cersei, especially since he’s surprisingly aroused by his sweet wife’s body and has not once needed to pretend he’s fucking a different woman. But in truth, most of his guilt is caused because he feels like he is treating Brienne as simply a body to be used.

Brienne, in her turn, tolerates his attentions but shows no pleasure in them. He seems to ready her enough to make it comfortable, even if not exactly pleasurable for her, but every night when he reaches for her, it’s almost as if he is touching her for the first time. She seems both afraid and confused, cold and unyielding, and that, in turn, makes him think he needs must get things finished as quickly as possible to ease her discomfort.

Jaime frowns as his horse canters back to the city from the army yards.

Mayhaps he is not the only one confused.

He remembers Brienne was badly injured in one of the last battles of the war. Mayhaps she knocked her head and some parts of her memory no longer work properly. Mayhaps she simply can’t remember what fucking is like from one night to the next. Jaime’s known enough old soldiers to know such things are not uncommon--they can remember every detail of a battle ten years in the past and yet cannot remember how to close their breeches.

But he doubts his theory is true. Princess Brienne is bright enough with all else. Slow with words, yes, and she will never win a battle of wits, ‘tis true, but she’s bright and willing to learn and unafraid to speak her piece when she has something to say, even if she needs must make her case to his sweet father, the King. She is also strong enough with a sword to hold her own against Sandor Clegane and win. He watches their morning sparring sessions, and Clegane does not coddle her. Of course, Jaime’s not surprised at Brienne’s skills. He crossed swords with her himself on a bloody battlefield and if they had been able to fight to the finish...well, he honestly cannot say which one of them would still be alive.

He pulls his horse to a walk as he reaches the Gate of the Gods and looks round him as he makes his way through King’s Landing without really seeing his surroundings.

They’re locked in another battle, he fears, but a battle he does not understand or know how to fight. Or mayhaps it is as simple as the fact she does not desire him. He has heard the marriage bed can be cold and loveless, and mayhaps that is to be their fate as well.

Not that it matters--and he doesn’t know why he’s disappointed at the thought. This is a political marriage after all, not a love match, and he and Brienne have struck a bargain of their own beyond the peace their fathers forged by trapping their children in this farce of a marriage.

Well, the sooner he gets the woman with child, the sooner he will have the heirs he needs, and then they will both be free.

Two sons, he tells himself as he rides into the Red Keep, two sons and done.

*/*/*/*/*

Two sons, Brienne tells herself, two sons and done. One for him; one for her.

She watches from the wall of the Red Keep as Jaime approaches the castle’s gate and feels her heart twist.

If only...

She stops.

There is no point in wishing for things that will never be, she grimly tells herself. His heart belongs to another woman--whether that woman is his sweet sister or no--and there is nothing she can do to change that.

The marriage bed is not the painful ordeal Septa Roelle had assured her it was and that fact alone still confuses her. She’s even more confused and surprised at the comfort she finds when Jaime’s body is against hers or beside her in the bed. Mayhaps...mayhaps when she’s given Jaime the heirs he requires she will be able to find another man who will feel as warm and as comforting.

She watches as Jaime rides through the castle’s gate and disappears into the Red Keep then swallows down tears.

Her thoughts are naught but a mummer’s tale she tells herself to soothe her aching heart.

No matter the threats she made to her husband, she will never allow another man to touch her. She swore vows in front of the Seven. She will not break her word.

And truth be told, she does not want anyone other than Jaime to touch her.

And why she feels this way for a man who can barely bring himself to acknowledge her presence, who slips into her bed in the dark and takes her with barely a word...

She grips the castle wall, her knuckles turning white.

She’s a fool, she tells herself bitterly. She should have refused this marriage pact and continued the fight until she fell on the battlefield. It’s the only place she’s ever truly belonged and she should have let herself die there.

She’s a fool, she tells herself again before she straightens her shoulders and heads to her bedchamber.

She has sworn vows and she has duties she must fulfill. She will be expected in the Great Hall and she needs must make ready.

*/*/*/*/*

The next few weeks are increasingly odd for Brienne.

Jaime joins her each night in her bed, and she has almost begun to trust that the pain and agony Septa Roelle described to her will never appear. If anything, Jaime’s touch is increasingly becoming something she… _enjoys_ , just like she is increasingly enjoying their time together in the evening, when they speak of what they’ve done during the day while they were apart, and talk about things they hope to improve once Jaime sits the Iron Throne in his own right.

She doesn’t understand why she’s learning to enjoy the time she spends with her sweet husband. She doesn’t understand why she enjoys his conversation or his observations about events of the day, or even his scathing remarks that are aimed at people she, too, dislikes.

She doesn’t understand.

She doesn’t understand why what she was told to expect in the marriage bed isn’t happening, and as the days drift into weeks, she becomes increasingly desperate for answers to that mystery, at least. Such answers should be easy enough to find, if she only had a woman she could trust enough to ask.

Brienne considers her court of ladies and decides the only one she can confide in is Arianne Martell. The Princess of Dorne is no maid, unlike the other high--born daughters that surround her. Brienne realizes it’s risky to trust her, but then again, the Princess is no more or less trustworthy than any of her other ladies.

Brienne invites Arianne to join her for a ride and the entire time they sedately walk their horses through the streets of King’s Landing, Brienne wonders how she can possibly raise the questions she needs to have answered with such a beautiful, confident woman.

It’s only after they’ve galloped far from the city that Brienne decides the moment is upon her.

“Your Grace,” she says after they pull their horses back to a walk, “I am sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked you to accompany me today.”

Arianne’s smile is slightly mocking. “I have been wondering, yes,” she says and for a moment, Brienne quails. There is no way to have this conversation without being humiliated, she thinks, miserable. But if she doesn’t take the risk, then there is no hope she will ever understand why her experiences in the marriage bed are... _pleasant_ instead of the excruciating ordeals she had been assured would be her lot.

Brienne scowls down at her over--large hands, confidently holding the reins of her horse, and staunchly tells herself she’s no craven.

“You are not a maid,” she blurts out.

Arianne’s eyes widen. “Is that a requirement to be a lady in your court?” she asks, and she actually sounds worried.

Brienne turns her scowl on the lovely Princess. “What? No. It’s just...you are the only one of my ladies who I suspect is not a maid, and...and...I have questions.”

Arianne’s confused expression clears. “About fucking?”

Brienne blushes and she nods, looking away, not wanting to see the mockery on Arianne’s face.

“Your sweet husband--”

“Is not a woman, and I have questions that only another woman can answer...and I have no mother or sister to help me.”

Arianne rides in thoughtful silence. “Then ask, Your Grace, and I shall do my best to answer,” she says and her voice is kind.

Brienne takes a deep breath and begins to speak.

*/*/*/*/*

What follows is both the most embarrassing conversation of her life and the most enlightening.

She’s certain her fiery red face can be seen all the way in King’s Landing, and yet she’s both disbelieving of and oddly fascinated by what Arianne is telling her. She does cling with almost desperate relief to Arianne’s confident assurances that Septa Roelle was mistaken in her teachings.

Brienne thanks the Princess of Dorne as they part ways upon their return to the Red Keep, and Arianne says, “I am truly honored you asked for my counsel, Your Grace.” Her smile seems sincere as she adds, “I will hold our conversation in the utmost confidence.”

Brienne smile is shy. “Thank you...Arianne.”

Arianne’s own smile widens before she curtsies and hurries away.

Brienne makes her way back to her bedchamber with a thoughtful scowl on her face.

She has much to think on before Jaime visits her bed tonight.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime raises an eyebrow as Brienne walks into her bedchamber. She has a thoughtful scowl on her face and she starts when she sees him waiting for her.

“Your Grace,” she says, surprised.

“I was beginning to worry, Your Grace,” he says, the title mocking. “You rode out early with the Princess of Dorne and yet you’re only returning now.”

She blinks those amazing eyes and blushes as she stares at him.

He hides a sigh. He was right to be worried when he learned she was granting Arianne a private audience. She was a Lord Commander, but she’s struck dumb at his simplest of questions. She can protect herself from a physical attack, but she is a babe in the woods when it comes to the machinations of the high--born families that surround them.

“Yes,” she says, her eyes wide and fascinated as she stares at him.

_This is intriguing_ , Jaime thinks, and wonders what on earth could make his maidenly wife--even though she is a maid no longer--look at him in such a way. He sees both fear and intrigued interest on her broad, scarred face.

He pushes himself to his feet and prowls towards her.

“What did you speak about with the Princess of Dorne?” he purrs.

Brienne doesn’t back away as he approaches although her eyes seem to grow even larger.

“We spoke of things that are of interest only to the two of us,” she says primly and he grins.

“Then why are you blushing, Brienne?”

She chews her lip as she stares at him and his gaze drops to her plump mouth. His cock stirs and he wonders if she’ll ever be ready to learn how to use her mouth for more than simply kissing him.

The thought arouses him more than he expects and he abruptly turns away.

“My mother died when I was very young,” Brienne blurts and he looks over his shoulder at her with surprise. “There are...I had...” She shifts uncomfortably but her gaze never wavers. “There were things I had been told which...turned out to be untrue. I needed to understand.”

Jaime turns back and frowns. “And you could not ask me?”

“You are not a woman, Your Grace.”

That takes him aback and then he smiles a little. “True.” He thoughtfully considers her. “Have your questions been answered, then?”

She blushes an even deeper red and she nods frantically, then she frowns. “Why are you here in my bedchamber?”

He shrugs. “My afternoon was not as busy as originally planned,” he says carelessly. “I thought you might like to ride out to a little pond several leagues from the city. Spend some time out of the fetid air of lickspittles trying to curry our favour. Only you were nowhere to be found and Lady Megga told me you rode off with Princess Arianne. In truth, I had only just arrived to see if you had returned when you walked in.”

“Oh,” she says, and Jaime wonders if he truly hears a note of disappointment in her voice or if he’s imagining it. Although why he hopes she’s disappointed is something he doesn’t wish to examine too closely.

“‘Tis too late for that now, but mayhaps there is still time for what else I had hoped to do this afternoon,” he says slowly, and her eyes widen as she recognizes the expression on his face.

“In the _daylight_?”

He shrugs as he prowls to the door leading to the hall and turns the key in the lock.

“Jaime...” she says faintly but Jaime can’t decipher if she’s protesting or yielding.

He doesn’t turn to look at her again until he’s locked the door connecting her bedchamber to the dressing room that separates their bedchambers.

There’s a high colour in her cheeks, and her eyes are dark and wary. He prowls to her and begins unbuckling her doublet.

“It’s daylight,” she whispers, her voice husky.

He shrugs. “We won’t dissolve if we’re naked together in the light,” he murmurs.

“But you...you won’t be able to...to...” She flushes a deep, dark red but makes no effort to stop him as he finishes removing her doublet. He tosses it aside then begins unlacing her tunic, and she’s biting on that deliciously plump bottom lip again.

He shrugs. “I guess we’ll learn what I’m capable of during the day,” he murmurs as he slides his hands inside her tunic and smooths his palms over her warm, soft skin as he kisses her.

*/*/*/*/*

The next few days are both revelatory and confusing for Jaime.

Brienne is still shy in the bedchamber, still anxiously douses the lanterns when he arrives at her bedside, but she is not nearly as cold and unyielding as she had been for the last few weeks. She touches him now--cautiously, almost chastely, ‘tis true, but somehow her calloused fingers tentatively stroking down his spine lights a fire inside him. It’s not the same fire Cersei has always ignited, but it’s a fire nonetheless.

It makes no sense, he thinks one afternoon as court ends and he and Brienne part to attend to their separate duties.

He scowls as he strides purposefully towards the stables and almost bowls over Arianne Martell as he rounds a corner.

“My pardons, Your Grace,” he says.

Arianne bobs a graceful curtsy then smiles. “No harm done, Your Grace. I hope I have not unduly interrupted your day.” Her smile turns teasing. “You appear to be a man on a mission.”

“I’m on my way to the army yards,” he mutters.

“Then I won’t impede you any longer,” she says, bobs another curtsy and glides past him.

Jaime takes a step then abruptly stops and turns. “Princess Arianne!”

She turns. “Yes, Prince Jaime?” Her smile is flirtatious, her eyes sparkling, and he hides a sigh. He wonders if this tendency to flirt at every opportunity is because Arianne is Dornish or because she’s a Martell.

He ignores his thoughts and says, “What do you and my sweet wife speak on when you are alone?”

Arianne’s laugh is sweet and light. “We are never truly alone, Your Grace, not in King’s Landing. You have no need to fear I am corrupting your innocent bride.”

“I doubt you could,” he says with a rueful shrug.

“I doubt I could either,” she says. She glides closer. “Why do you ask?”

“Princess Brienne is...different, now, than she was before,” he slowly says. “Whatever you speak on seems to have helped to ease her fears...”

Arianne’s smile is almost kind. “I have sworn to hold her secrets close, Your Grace. I will not share them, not even with you.”

He’s surprised by how crestfallen he feels. “Ah. I will not beg you to break your word.” He bows. “Good day, Your Grace.”

This time she’s the one who calls him back after he has turned away.

“I will not break my word to your sweet wife,” Arianne says, “but I will say this: she did not have a mother to counsel her on a woman’s lot in life. Her old septa was either misinformed or deliberately cruel, and Princess Brienne’s experiences have not prepared her for the marriage bed, or, I suspect, for you.”

Jaime remembers some of the things Brienne said during their first bedding. “I believe I understand,” he says, slowly. He bows, deeply. “Thank you, Your Grace, and thank you for being a true friend to my sweet wife. I shall not forget your kindness.”

Arianne smiles. “It is easy to be kind to Princess Brienne,” she says, “but you’re welcome anyway.”

*/*/*/*/*

Over the next few days, Jaime deliberately seeks Brienne out whenever he can, although he can’t explain, even to himself, why he so desires to warm things even more between them.

He finally takes her riding to the pond he had mentioned, a few leagues from the city. There, he strips her down and takes his time fucking her on the soft grass by its bank, looking deep into her eyes as he does so. Then they swim and talk of little things and bigger things: their favourite foods (crab for Brienne; roast auroch for Jaime) and their least favourite (stew of any kind; they’ve both spent too many years eating it every day in army camps); the state of the food stores in King’s Landing and the need to provide more food to the smallfolk of the kingdom; the continued disbanding of the army and the challenges of veterans finally returning to civilian life with no place or families or jobs to be found.

They lazily swim and for some reason, it pleases him that she is as comfortable in water as she is in armour. It pleases him even more when his gentle teasing surprises a shy smile from her lips, and he can’t help but kiss her because of it.

He fucks her again, even more slowly, even more thoroughly, and her soft sighs and mewls and gasps fire his blood in a way he is not expecting.

There is something almost transcendent about it all, this endless afternoon away from the city and suspended in the sunlight. In the end, as he reaches his peak, her arms and legs wrapped tightly round him, holding him safe, all he can think is _yes_.

He slowly relaxes and nuzzles his face against her neck.

_Yes_ , he thinks again, sleepily, feeling warm, content, safe, _yes, we’ve created a child._

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime is unbearably smug as they dress, an undertaking that takes longer than usual because he stops to kiss her every few moments.

Brienne doesn’t object; in fact, she quite enjoys it. She doesn’t think she’s experienced the great pleasure Arianne described to her, but she doesn’t care. She can’t stop smiling as they finally, reluctantly finish dressing and return to King’s Landing.

*/*/*/*/*

They’re still smiling as they walk into the Great Hall to attend King Tywin at supper.

Arianne raises an eyebrow when she catches sight of Brienne’s glowing face, and Brienne blushes furiously as she takes her customary seat on Tywin’s left hand, while Jaime seats himself on Tywin’s right.

She rather wishes Jaime was beside her then focuses on entertaining the man on her left.

Brienne’s smile falters slightly after he introduces himself as Maester Luwin, arrived that afternoon from Winterfell. She doesn’t want to think of Cersei after spending such a lovely afternoon with Jaime. Still, the Queen in the North is far away, and Brienne knows Cersei had been far from Jaime’s thoughts this afternoon as well, and for now, that’s enough.

She shares polite conversation with Maester Luwin then, as the last course is taken away, King Tywin stands and a hush immediately falls over everyone in the Great Hall.

Tywin takes his wine goblet in hand and says, “Maester Luwin is our most honored guest tonight, here at our table. He is King Eddard Stark’s Maester and he has journeyed the long distance from Winterfell to bring us news.” He lifts his goblet high. “Let us drink in celebration and thanksgiving, for my sweet daughter Cersei, the Queen in the North, is with child!”

The blood drains from Brienne’s cheeks even as she forces a smile to her lips while everyone cheers. She then sips her wine with everyone else.

Once the cheering has ended, she turns to Maester Luwin. “This is marvellous news,” she says. “When is the babe expected to be born?”

“In four moons, Your Grace, mayhaps five. The Queen has not allowed me to examine her at any great length to decide for certain.”

Brienne keeps the smile on her face with an effort. “Four or five moons?”

Maester Luwin nods, his expression smugly proud. “King Eddard is a virile man, Your Grace. The Queen assures me the King got her with child on their wedding night.”

*/*/*/*/*

_The generators are ready by the time she returns. She pulls on her skull cap and settles in the chair beside him._

_They exchange nods and then Brienne hits enter._

*/*/*/*/*

That night, Brienne locks her doors.

She hears Jaime rattle the latch and she waits, expecting him to shout and pound his fist against the door, to demand entry, demand she do her duty.

But he does none of that, and Brienne doesn’t know if she’s relieved or disappointed.

She sits by her table, a small goblet of wine in front of her, and struggles to control her rage and grief and fear.

Cersei.

_Pregnant._

With the pregnancy occurring so quickly after her wedding, Brienne has no doubt the babe’s true father will never be known.

If King Eddard were to suspect...

Her blood runs cold.

The Starks began a civil war that lasted for over ten years because King Rhaegar took Lyanna Stark, King Eddard’s sister, for his mistress--or mayhaps his bride. Not that it matters now, so many years later. The Lannisters put aside their differences with the Starks to rise up in joint rebellion against the last Targaryen King, while the Stormlands fought with the Throne. Even so, the last Targaryen had been quickly defeated, and the conflicts quickly devolved into an endless, bloody fight to determine who should sit the Southron Throne.

Gold buys loyalty and sellswords, and Tywin Lannister took the Throne because he could hold it, and he did, despite her own best efforts as well as many other Houses. But now, all these long and violent years later, all the realm really wants now is simply wants peace.

If King Eddard Stark were to discover that the babe his royal wife is carrying could possibly be her brother’s child and not her husband’s...

Brienne feels faint at the thought.

The possibility of re--sparking a war is what concerns her as a Lord Commander, as a Princess, as a future Queen.

As a _woman_...

She closes her eyes, hands clenching as jealous rage sweeps through her, and tells herself she’s being foolish.

Jaime went to Cersei on their--Jaime and Brienne’s--wedding night. She knows he loves Cersei. Knows he will always love her. But they had been fucking for years, Brienne thinks, her heart bitter, and if Cersei truly became pregnant so quickly after Cersei’s own wedding night...is it possible she deliberately did all she could to ensure any babe she bore would be Jaime’s?

Brienne’s head aches.

She sips her wine and thinks on what she can remember from the wedding feast for King Eddard and Cersei: Ned saying he felt ill, and then her own predicament, waking from a drugged stupor to find herself naked and spreadeagled, tied to her bed.

She takes another sip of wine.

Not Cersei’s wedding night, most like, she thinks, her face grim, and the only reason the woman would make such a claim would be to hide the truth about who actually fathered the babe.

She closes her eyes.

She will never escape Cersei’s shadow, she thinks, not even when the other woman is half a kingdom away.

*/*/*/*/*

Maester Luwin seeks Jaime out when supper ends, calling to him before Jaime can follow after Brienne, who is all but running from the Great Hall when Tywin finally releases them from his presence.

Luwin’s smile seems sincere and innocent enough as he holds out a sealed note.

“From your sweet sister, Your Grace,” he says, as if Jaime doesn’t know who from Winterfell would be writing to him.

“Thank you, Maester,” Jaime says, taking the note from the man’s hand. “How fares my sweet sister? When is she to be delivered of the babe?”

“As I told Princess Brienne, the Queen has not allowed me to examine her at any great length, however, she assures me the babe was conceived on her wedding night.” Luwin chuckles comfortably. “Women are often wrong about these matters, however. She will deliver in four months or mayhaps even five.”

Jaime’s smile is sharp and humorless. “‘Tis not her first child,” he says mildly enough, “she mayhaps knows better when the babe was conceived than a woman who has had no other children.”

Luwin’s face immediately fills with sympathy. “Ah, yes, the poor Crown Prince and Princess,” he says. “Pity they died in infancy, Your Grace. How many years of civil war could have been avoided if only King Rhaegar had had a living heir?”

Even now, even after everything, and just like a trained dog, Jaime still grits his teeth against the jealousy that ripples though him at the fact Cersei gave birth to Rhaegar’s children. Twins, both died shortly after Rhaegar stole Lyanna Stark from her family and her betrothed. The babes had not even been weaned yet and they died before Jaime had ever seen them.

Jaime shakes his jealous memories away and nods at Maester Luwin.

“True,” he murmurs, and it is. Years of war and devastation could have been avoided if only one of the children had lived. “Thank you, Maester, for travelling so far to give us this news in person.”

Luwin touches the chained collar round his neck. “The Queen in the North learned I have yearned to forge another silver link for my chain these last years. There has been much learned of medicine and healing during the war, but I have had no opportunity to learn the new ways while we were at war with the South. Queen Cersei, in her infinite kindness, persuaded the King to send me to the Citadel, and the only thanks she would accept was for me to detour to King’s Landing to act as her agent in personally sharing their glad news.” Luwin’s smile turns self--deprecating as he chuckles. “‘Tis somewhat self--serving, as well, I’ll admit. I hope to spend time with Grand Maester Pycelle, and I have never seen King’s Landing.”

Jaime forces a chuckle in response. “Harmless enough ambitions, Maester.” He bows. “I thank you for treating my sweet sister so kindly. Good night.”

Jaime crushes the note in his hand after he finally makes his escape from the Great Hall.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime tries the door to Brienne’s bedchamber and is not surprised to find it locked against him.

He pours a goblet of wine and gulps it, and wishes it were something else--something that would burn and claw at his throat, something that would _hurt_.

He pours himself another goblet of wine and gulps it as well, then pours himself a third before he finally sits at his side table and picks up the sealed note. He heaves a deep sigh and opens it.

He skims the words written in Cersei’s hasty yet still elegant hand. On the surface, the words are innocuous enough: light--hearted chatter any sister would send to her brother. Buried within the missive, however, is the true message he knows Cersei means for him to see:

_By now you will have learned the news that I am with child. ‘Tis surprising that it happened on the wedding night, but mayhaps fortunate as well, since my sweet husband became ill during our journey to Winterfell--so ill I had almost begun to despair for his life! The gods have been kind, however, and he has recently returned to my bed. I pray the gods will be as kind to your sweet wife and allow her to give you the heir you so deeply desire since my sincerest wish is for our children to be as siblings to each other._

He crushes the paper in his hand and throws it on the fire.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne successfully avoids Jaime the next morning, which in truth perfectly fits into his own plans for the day. He seeks out Maester Luwin after breakfast and asks if he has met Grand Maester Pycelle.

“No, Your Grace,” Luwin replies with an obsequious smile, “but I understand he is a busy man since he is a trusted member of the King’s Small Council.”

“You are also a member of your King’s Small Council,” Jaime says with a charming smile. “I believe he is in his chambers at this time of day. Walk with me, and I shall introduce you.”

“You are as kind as your sister,” Luwin says as he falls in beside Jaime.

_Truer words have never been spoken_ , Jaime thinks grimly, and says, “You praise me too highly, Maester, but I thank you for the sentiment.”

They stroll towards the Rookery and Jaime idly says, “How was your journey from Winterfell? I understand there are still bandits haunting the Riverlands.”

Luwin chuckles. “The Queen was kind enough to provide me with an escort.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow. “Oh? I have not noticed any new horses in the stables.”

“Ser Gregor and his men saw me safely to the gates of King’s Landing, but they immediately continued on to Clegane’s Keep--some small emergency he needs must attend to, I understand.”

Jaime’s blood turns ice cold. “Kind of him to escort you so far out of his way,” he murmurs.

“Well, when a woman as beautiful as Queen Cersei requests it, Your Grace, there are not many men strong enough to refuse her.”

_That’s my fear_ , Jaime thinks as he gives Luwin another charming smile and knocks on Grand Maester Pycelle’s door.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime barely sees Brienne for the next three days but Princess Arianne spoke true: no one is ever truly alone in King’s Landing. He sets the few members of the Kingsguard he trusts to watch over Brienne from afar and thinks if Ser Gregor Clegane is lurking round King’s Landing, there is no place such a monstrous man can hide: the Mountain that Rides would not only be noticed but remarked upon.

Still, he needs must be careful. He does not want to raise eyebrows by asking too many questions. Ser Gregor is House Lannister’s bannerman, after all, and the very suggestion Ser Gregor could be in King’s Landing without paying his respects to his Lord and his King would be all that is needed to start tongues wagging.

There must be no speculation or suspicion cast on who fathered Cersei’s babe, and the rumors of Jaime’s affair with Cersei are rampant throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Even Brienne remarked on it on their wedding night.

The last night he spent with Cersei.

He shakes his thoughts away. He needs must be careful not to start the tongues wagging. The gods only knew where the gossip might lead.

*/*/*/*/*

He needs must be careful, he thinks again that night as he tries the door to Brienne’s bedchamber and finds it once more locked. _Brienne_ needs must be careful, but he can’t warn her if she refuses to speak to him.

*/*/*/*/*

The following morning, Jaime finally catches Brienne in the training yards before she and Sandor Clegane disappear into whatever hidden corner of the castle they’ve decided to use for their sparring sessions the last few days.

“Princess Brienne,” Jaime calls as he steps out of the armory.

She startles, giving him a wide--eyed, almost guilty look and his eyes narrow. He glances at Sandor and thinks he’ll cut the man to ribbons if he’s laid a finger on Brienne. He returns his gaze to Brienne to find she’s now giving him a defiant glare, her homely face haughtily proud, her chin lifted high.

“Prince Jaime,” she says, so cold and distant Jaime wonders if he only dreamed their afternoon at the pond.

He turns to Sandor. “I shall spar with Her Grace today, Clegane. You may leave us.”

Sandor glowers at him then glances at Brienne.

Brienne’s own glower is angry enough that Jaime should have been dead on the spot, and he almost feels amused.

She nods at Sandor. “Thank you, Sandor. Tomorrow.”

Sandor bows, shoots Jaime a deeply suspicious glare and leaves.

They ready themselves in silence then Jaime turns to face his erstwhile bride and hefts his sword, his lips curved in a mocking smile.

“Come now, Your Grace,” he says. “You’ve been angry enough to lock your door against me these last three nights; here’s your chance to batter me to my knees, if it will make you feel better.”

Beneath her half--helm, Brienne’s mouth sets into mulish lines then, with a growl, she attacks.

*/*/*/*/*

The bloody man is _good_ , Brienne thinks some time later. Sweat stings her eyes as she’s forced to retreat, parrying blow after lightning--quick blow. She knew of his skill, of course, even before they crossed swords on the battlefield. _Everyone_ has heard tales of Prince Jaime Lannister’s skill with a sword.

She blocks another blow and takes advantage of a slight opening to steal the offensive, and now he’s the one dancing away from her sword, laughing as he does so.

The laughter angers her and she redoubles her efforts.

He leaps back, laughs again, and calls, “Are you simply going to beat my head in, Brienne? Or do you wish to hear my explanation?”

She grits her teeth. “There’s nothing to explain,” she growls and rushes him, tackling him and knocking them both into the dirt, swords skidding away from their hands.

“Not about the child,” Jaime pants before he reaches up and yanks off her half--helm.

She yelps and rolls off him, scrabbling for her sword. Jaime’s on his feet and waiting for her by the time she spins to face him and she sees he, too, has torn off his helm.

“You’re mad,” she snarls, and Jaime laughs again.

“Mayhaps--but I haven’t seen your face for this long is almost four days, Brienne, and I could no longer stand that helm in the way.”

She blinks and almost fails to block his next blow.

Then there’s only the sounds of their swords clashing, the clank of their armour, their grunts with each blow, and their ragged breathing.

Beneath it all, beneath her hurt and rage, beneath the need to _win_ , is a growing...she falters and Jaime almost disarms her before she catches herself. As they continue battering each other round the training yard, Brienne thinks of the afternoon at the pond, of the recent nights in her bed, and there’s no denying that even weighed down with padded leather and armour and a shield, the man-- _curse him_ \--is graceful and beautiful, despite--or mayhaps because of--a bruised cheek, his mouth gaping open as he gasps for air, his soaked with sweat, and she _wants_ \--

She wants to _win_...and she desperately wants to _fuck him_ after she wins and she even more desperately wants to mark him somehow, to claim him as hers and know he will never be with another woman.

Stupid, she thinks, panting as they circle each other, glaring, and then his eyes widen and she knows he sees it, sees her lust, and his gaze darkens and burns, and almost without thought, they both drop their swords and shields and are in each other’s arms.

*/*/*/*/*

A half--noticed door reveals a dusty storeroom, lit only by the sun streaming through a window high in the wall.

They hastily jam the door shut and then they’re on each other, their clanging armour loud in the small room.

“Fuck,” Jaime growls as he hastily pulls at his buckles and laces, “get out of those breeches, or I’ll rip them off.”

Brienne’s already pulling at her own buckles and laces, and for the first time in her life, she curses the fact she’s wearing breeches.

Then Jaime’s pressed against her back--hot and hard and she _aches_ \--his hands slide between her legs, his questing fingers make her cry out, her knees almost buckle as she desperately pushes her breeches and smallclothes down to her ankles

“Gods,” he growls in her ear then to her surprised confusion, he bends her over, forcing her to brace herself with her hands flat on the bench in front of them. His hands bruise her hips as he holds her steady and she cries out again as he drives into her, easing that ache.

He uses one hand to stroke between her thighs while the other holds her hip as he moves inside her. She cries out again, more loudly, as she eagerly meets his thrusts with her own. Tension builds within her as the world narrows to the feel of Jaime’s mouth against her neck, his hot breath ghosting against her skin, his fingers on her hips or stroking between her legs, his cock moving inside her. She screams as her body suddenly clenches and her vision turns white with pleasure as Jaime growls out his own release against her shoulder.

Brienne is trembling, her legs weak as the last of her pleasure fades away, and both she and Jaime slowly, carefully, sink down on to the dusty floor.

*/*/*/*/*

They return to their apartment, dishevelled and dirty and bruised. They have some time before they needs must appear in the Throne Room, so Jaime calls for hot water and the largest tub the servants can find. Then he and Brienne strip down and, after some manoeuvring, they fit themselves into the bath, Brienne sitting in front of him, her back pressed against his chest.

He wraps his arms round her, presses a kiss against her shoulder, and says, “I know you’re still angry with me.”

Brienne’s body tenses against him. “It happened before we struck our bargain,” she mutters.

“Doesn’t mean you’re not angry.”

“No.”

He tightens his arms round her. “She’s very far away,” he murmurs.

“With your child,” Brienne whispers.

He sighs and buries his face against her shoulder. “If it is indeed my child,” he replies.

Brienne twists to glare over her shoulder at him then rolls her eyes. “Please,” she says.

His arms tighten round her. “Cersei lies,” he says. “I ask that you always remember that: _Cersei lies_.”

*/*/*/*/*

They have no more time alone together until that night, when they return to their apartment. Once there, Brienne rather shyly takes Jaime’s hand and leads him to her bedchamber.

He refuses to allow her to douse the lanterns and to her surprised happiness, she finds the same pleasure in her bed as she discovered in the storeroom.

Afterwards, Jaime pulls the blankets over them, curls round her and falls asleep.

*/*/*/*/*

Sometime in the night, Jaime wakes her with coaxing hands and mouth, and she shudders her release against him with a soft sigh and even softer kisses.

*/*/*/*/*

As they walk back to their apartment the next morning after Brienne’s morning sparring session with Sandor, Jaime says, “Do you always wear your armour and sword when you leave the Red Keep?”

Brienne frowns. “Most of the time, yes,” she says. “Why?”

Jaime hesitates. He hasn’t been able to find any sign of Ser Gregor or his men. Mayhaps the man really did have to return to Clegane Keep to take care of family business. Mayhaps he read too much into Cersei’s words.

_Cersei lies_ , he reminds himself. _She especially lies when she wants to control me._

“There have been some rumors of unrest brewing in the city,” he says. “It would ease my mind if you would go about your day armed and alert.”

Her bottomless blue eyes are puzzled as she blinks at him. “All right,” she says and he knows he’s confused her.

He can only nod. “Good,” he mutters.

*/*/*/*/*

Over the week or so, there continues to be no sign of Ser Gregor Clegane and his men. As Maester Luwin departs for the Citadel a fortnight after his arrival in King’s Landing, Jaime finally allows himself to relax.

He continues to encourage Brienne to wear her armour and sword until she finally reminds him with a puzzled scowl that she was a Lord Commander of an army and has faced far more dangerous foes than some disgruntled smallfolk.

He softens at that and lets it go.

*/*/*/*/*

Arianne Martell looks up and smiles as Brienne walks into the solar.

“Thank you for joining me, Brienne,” Arianne says.

“Your note sounded very formal,” Brienne says with a puzzled smile as she sits across from her friend.

“I’m afraid it is. I’ve received a message from my father. He’s asked me to return to Dorne.”

Brienne’s heart sinks. “Oh.”

Arianne reaches out and takes Brienne’s hand. “You have been a true friend to me, Brienne. I pray the friendship we’ve forged will not fade once I am far away and absorbed with the needs of my own realm.”

“No, no, of course not,” Brienne hastily says and forces a smile.

“Good.” Arianne leans back on her seat and grimaces. “My father has arranged a marriage for me. I needs must return and meet my proposed groom.”

“And if he is not to your liking?”

Arianne shrugs. “I will not be the first Princess to marry for the good of the realm.” She suddenly smiles. “If the gods are kind, I will be as lucky with my husband as you have been with yours.”

Brienne blushes. “Prince Jaime is sweet to look upon, ‘tis true,” she murmurs.

Arianne bursts out laughing. “Well said, Brienne, but I don’t believe it is his looks that have had you glowing these last weeks.”

Brienne’s blush deepens as she ducks her head in a vain attempt to hide her sudden smile.

Arianne laughs again, clapping her hand with glee. “I am pleased for you, Your Grace, and hope I will be as fortunate.”

“It is still not a love match,” Brienne says quickly.

“Happiness in the bedchamber does much to build a strong marriage, or so my father has told me.” Arianne stops and sighs. “I will be leaving in three days, Brienne.”

“I shall be sorry to see you go,” Brienne says sadly, “but I will wish you happy and pray we shall meet again.”

Arianne gracefully stands and holds out her hands to Brienne. When Brienne lumbers to her feet, Arianne rises on her toes and presses a kiss to first one then the other of Brienne’s cheeks.

“We shall certainly meet again,” Arianne says firmly. “The Martell marriage to a Targaryen did not end well, but mayhaps a Martell--Lannister alliance will fare much better.”

Brienne blinks at that then slowly smiles. “Mayhaps,” she says. “I also need heirs for Tarth.”

Arianne’s laugh is genuinely amused. “That would be even better,” she says.

*/*/*/*/*

Arianne leaves three days later and Jaime watches her go with mixed emotions.

On the one hand, she’s a Martell and therefore cannot be fully trusted. On the other, she seems to be a true friend to Brienne, kind to her even when he is not, and for that, he will always be grateful.

Brienne looks crestfallen as she stands beside him and he turns to her.

“You look sad, Your Grace,” he says. “Would you like to spar?”

Brienne frowns at him, her magnificent eyes puzzled. “Sandor is on duty now,” she says.

He raises an eyebrow. “I was suggesting with me.” He leans closer. “That storeroom is still there, I believe.”

She blushes a bright red even as her eyes darken.

Then she nods.

*/*/*/*/*

They only speak of Cersei when King Tywin mentions her name. Brienne sometimes feels guilty, carrying Jaime’s secret as if it were her own.

Of course, in some ways, it _is_ her own. He is her husband, he will someday be her King, and the realm has bled far more than enough already. Whether an accident or deliberate, the truth of the babe cannot be changed and if they all stay silent, chances are no one will ever know for certain.

Her own marriage grows easier each day. Jaime now more often than not spends the night in her bed, his body warm and comforting beside hers. It still startles her sometimes when she wakes in the night to find another person beside her.

She truly enjoys the beddings now and almost hopes she will not fall pregnant for a long time so Jaime will have to stay in her bed. Whenever she begins to think like she reminds herself of their bargain: two sons. Two sons and done, no matter how much pleasure she now finds in his arms. That was their bargain and she will not break her word.

And oh, she shall miss him when he leaves...which is reason enough to enjoy what time she will have with him all the more.

*/*/*/*/*

The next three weeks are busy but calm, and while Jaime is expecting another missive from his sweet sister at any moment--especially since he has not responded to her note--he pushes thoughts of Cersei and her babe to the back of his mind. She is in the North, and a Queen--or at least she’s a Queen for as long as King Eddard lives. While Jaime knows she will never entirely give up her hold on him, he hopes that the babe and her duties and the distance between them will finally give her cause her to loosen her grip.

He hopes that when or if he ever see her again, he will only see his sister and not his lover.

*/*/*/*/*

In the three weeks since Princess Arianne’s departure, Jaime finds himself observing Brienne ever more closely as she grows into her role as Princess and future Queen. She treats her ladies--in--waiting and, indeed, all the high--born at court, kindly, although he still worries she is too naive when it comes to playing the game of thrones. But she asks his father shrewd and difficult questions every day after they attend him in the Throne Room and hear the petitions of high--born and smallfolk alike. She asks Jaime even more difficult questions about the army and the state of the realm outside King’s Landing.

Summer is almost over when Jaime finds himself with unexpected time on his hands. His father is out of the city, hunting stag with Lord Stokeworth, so Jaime seeks out Brienne and invites her to ride out to the army camps with him.

They’re strolling towards the stables, comfortably discussing their growing concerns about the fates of former soldiers who are beginning to crowd into the streets of Flea Bottom, when they hear Jaime’s name called.

They turn to see Grand Maester Pycelle, his round body jiggling as he runs to catch up to them.

He reaches them, puffing.

“A raven has arrived from Stokeworth, Your Grace,” Maester Pycelle says, his chins trembling. “The King is dead.” He clumsily kneels as he stares up at Jaime. “Long live the King.”

*/*/*/*/*

Ravens fly to every corner of the Seven Kingdoms while Jaime flies to Stokeworth.

He stands in that castle’s sept and looks down at his father’s body. The silent sisters have already washed the King and wrapped him in clean linens and Jaime stares and tries to see the man who had been alive only yesterday, passing judgment on his subjects.

While the silent sisters finish preparing King Tywin’s body and the Kingsguard wait to carry his body to the funeral carriage, Jaime seeks out Lord Stokeworth.

“What happened?” he asks.

Lord Balman gulps as he meets Jaime’s cold gaze. “We--we were hunting, Your Grace--I mean, Your Majesty. The forest is teeming with game, and the dogs were leading us a merry chase. We decided on a friendly wager, a bottle of the finest Arbor Gold to the one who captured the largest stag. We separated so there would be no doubt as to who had bagged the largest animal. That was yesterday.”

“ _Yesterday?_ ”

Lord Balman nods. “I returned, but the King did not. We sent out search parties but only found him early this morning.” He gulps again. “His horse was gored, Your Gr--Majesty. Most likely a wild boar, from what we could tell.” He grimaces. “Wolves had already made a meal of the horse.”

“But not my royal father’s corpse?” Jaime demands coldly.

Lord Balman glances away. “The silent sisters are skilled in camouflage, Your Majesty.”

To Jaime’s surprise, his stomach roils. He, who had seen enough carnage and blood, severed limbs and spilled guts to last several lifetimes, and yet the very thought of _wolves_ dining on his father’s flesh--

He blinks the images away.

“You believe the boar gored my sweet father as well?”

Lord Balman shakes his head. “The King’s head was bashed in, Your Majesty, likely from being unseated when the horse was attacked.”

Jaime frowns. Unlikely, he thinks, but not impossible, and with his sweet father’s penchant for hunting alone, there is no one to dispute Lord Balman’s version of events. Not that Lord Balman has any reason to lie or to harm the King. He had been one of King Tywin’s most loyal bannermen, which is why the King allowed him to take the title of Lord Stokeworth when Lady Tanda Stokeworth died and her daughter, Felyse, became Lady Stokeworth. Jaime doubts the man would resort to murder simply because he would have preferred to be known as Lord Byrch instead.

No matter.

Lord Balman has been nothing but loyal these last years, even during the worst of the war. There is no reason to doubt his word now.

“Thank you, Lord Stokeworth,” Jaime says. “The respect you have shown my sweet father will not be forgotten.”

Lord Stokeworth’s relief is palpable as he bows. “Your Majesty.”

*/*/*/*/*

Ravens fly back to King’s Landing from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms.

While Jaime stands vigil over his sweet father’s corpse lying in state in the Great Sept, Brienne works with the castellans and the High Septon, the Small Council and her ladies--in--waiting to arrange the coronation ceremony and related pageantry. A raven arrives from Tarth, words of condolence and encouragement from her father, including the news he would be leaving for King’s Landing that very day.

Her heart leaps at the thought of seeing her father again so soon, although she fervently wishes it were under different circumstances. She did not expect--nor did she wish--to be Queen so soon. King Tywin was a hard man, a brutal man, an implacable and deadly foe and an even more frightening ally, but she cannot deny he was also a strong King. She can’t help but wonder if the fragile peace King Tywin forged with King Selwyn, bought with her body and Jaime’s, will last.

She steps into the Great Sept and sees Jaime standing tall and proud at the foot of King Tywin’s bier, his hands wrapped round the hilt of the great sword propped in front of him.

Brienne bows her head to the Stranger then places the food and drink she’s carrying on the pew immediately behind Jaime. She puts a tentative hand on his elbow.

He looks, unsmiling, at her.

She tilts her head towards her offerings then squeezes his arm and leaves without a word.

*/*/*/*/*

The Red Keep fills almost to bursting with lords and ladies from all corners of Westeros.

Ser Gregor Clegane--the Mountain that Rides--arrives on the sixth day, bearing a message from Queen Cersei, naming him as her official representative at both the funeral and the coronation. King Eddard is once again feeling ill, Ser Gregor tells Brienne in his deep, surprisingly soft voice that sends chills down her spine, and, of course, Queen Cersei does not wish to risk her unborn child by travelling so far so quickly.

Not that they would arrive in time anyway, Brienne thinks as the Mountain leaves the Throne Room. Even her own father may not arrive in time for the coronation if the winds choose not to cooperate with his ships.

*/*/*/*/*

King Tywin’s funeral rites are performed on the seventh day after his death.

After all the prayers are said and all the song are sung, King Tywin is consigned to the crypts below the Red Keep and Jaime finally plods to the King’s apartments where he strips himself of his armour for the first time in a week, and collapses into bed.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne tells him of the plans for the coronation the next morning at breakfast, and also of Ser Gregor’s arrival and his role.

She pauses, chewing on her bottom lip, then says, “He mentioned he has a private message from your sweet sister for you.”

He nods, his mouth pinched tight. “I have no doubt he does,” he mutters.

“I know this has all happened much sooner than we expected,” Brienne says, hesitant, “but you are King Tywin’s heir. You almost seem...resentful that you needs must now take the throne.”

Jaime’s lips grow tighter. “I never wanted to be King,” he says. “I hoped my father would never die, or, rather, that I would die before him. Let my son or daughter rule in my stead.” His sudden smile is bitter. “I have no doubt any child of mine would be a better ruler than I.”

Brienne frowns. “You are no more dishonorable than any other man who fought in that endless war.” She thinks of Ser Gregor and grimaces. “And better than some.”

“Have you forgotten my sweet sister?”

“If only I could,” Brienne snaps, “and if I could change your past, I would. Is that why you are so angry, Jaime? Because Cersei is not here to comfort you? Or is it because she is not your Queen?”

Jaime stares at her, his expression unreadable. “Neither,” he finally says. “I’m angry at my father for being so foolish as to get himself killed this way. I’m angry that I now must take on a role I have never desired to have. I’m angry that of everyone Cersei could have chosen, she chose _Ser Gregor Clegane_ to carry her condolences to us.”

Brienne understands the last. The Mountain that Rides is as notorious for his cruelty as Jaime is for his skill with a sword.

She says, “Ser Gregor told me he was at Clegane Keep dealing with a minor matter when the news arrived. Queen Cersei chose him because he was already here.”

Jaime’s smile is mocking. “Convenient.” He leans forward, his green eyes boring into hers. “Promise me, Brienne, that you will go nowhere without at least two Kingsguard in attendance.”

Brienne’s eyes widen. “Are you suggesting Ser Gregor would do me harm? For what reason?”

Jaime looks down and his lashes are long and thick against his cheeks. Then he looks up at her again and says, “‘Tis not Ser Gregor who worries me,” he says. “My sweet father held this kingdom together through fear and sheer force of will. If there are still Houses who oppose a Lannister regime, now would be a good time to launch a rebellion.” His smile is thin. “Be wary, Brienne. That is all I ask.”

*/*/*/*/*

The coronation takes place seven days after King Tywin’s funeral. The Red Keep is filled almost past bursting as ever more lords and ladies arrive from far and wide. Brienne’s disappointed her father is not able to arrive in time and that Princess Arianne is not able to return.

Despite her personal disappointments, the smallfolk and high--born alike seem to enjoy the pageantry and spectacle, and she allows herself a moment to feel proud that everything is going as planned. But as Brienne watches the crown be placed on Jaime’s proud head, a chill runs through her.

She suddenly has a sick feeling that this is going to change _everything_.

*/*/*/*/*

There is feasting and celebrations for the next three days, culminating on the last day with a tourney. Jaime and Brienne sit side by side, watching the contests. He glances at her and catches an almost melancholy look on her face.

She seems to feels his eyes upon her because she turns and frowns at him.

“You wish you were down there, don’t you,” he says with a conciliatory smile.

Her mouth curves upwards. “Aye. As do you.”

He grins at that. “Better down there than up here.”

Her own smile grows. “On that at least, Your Majesty, we most definitely agree.”

*/*/*/*/*

That night, he fucks her for the first time since his father died--slowly, carefully, as if she were some delicate thing that will break if he presses too much. He brings her to her peak several times before he finally enters her and takes his own pleasure.

Afterwards, his head pillowed against her meagre breast while she strokes his head, the callouses of her hand catching on his hair, he thinks, _she’s not as soft as Cersei but far more fragile,_ and struggles against the urge to weep.

*/*/*/*/*

The third day after the tourney, the ships from Tarth finally arrive with their flags flying at half--mast.

Brienne watches as her father’s bannermen are ushered into their presence. Her eyes flicker over Septa Roelle trailing behind the men, clad in a black septa’s robe, her hands slowly wringing as they pace the length of the Throne Room to at last stop at the foot of the steps leading to the Throne.

Jaime watches, silent, as Brienne straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin.

“How?” is all she says.

The bannermen exchange an embarrassed glance.

“We don’t know for certain, Your Majesty,” Lord Estermont says. “We had stormy seas, ‘tis true, and your sweet father was well into his cups when he took to his bed with...” He glances at Brienne’s stoic face and clears his throat.

He had never been so careful about offending her when she wore armour and steel, she thinks bitterly, and wishes she did not have to wear a dress while holding court. If she had a sword instead of the dagger hidden in her boot, she would put its point to Estermont’s throat and demand he forget the fact she’s Queen and simply _speak_.

Estermont says, “King Selwyn took to his bed with one of his whores. In the morning, he was gone.”

She frowns, but says nothing, her eyes boring into Estermont’s.

He hastily continues. “The whore was not long in King Selwyn’s cabin and the King was still alive when she left; he was heard bellowing at her to get out. The King was then glimpsed on deck at the height of the storm but everyone was busy fighting the waves and the wind and the sails. No one knows where or when or how he was knocked overboard. All we know is in the morning, the King was gone.”

Brienne feels as if she’s carved from ice and wonders if this is how Jaime felt when he first heard the news of King Tywin’s death.

She watches, almost unseeing as the bannermen, one by one, kneel before them.

“Our King is dead,” Estermont says, turning to look at Jaime. “Long live the King.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne spends seven days praying in the Great Sept for her father’s soul, and the second coronation that occurs the next day is much more subdued than the first. Jaime insists they are both crowned this time, but the feasting is only for a day and there is no grand tourney at the end of it.

It doesn’t matter. She’d much rather have had her father alive instead, big and booming and loving her in his own way.

The second coronation seems to weigh even heavier on Jaime’s shoulders than the first. He is tense, unsmiling, more grim than usual, and that night, he practically clings to her although he hasn’t fucked her since the news of her father’s death.

“Will you tell me what’s frightening you so?” she whispers into the dark.

He shifts closer to her, burrowing his face against her shoulder.

“I am not frightened,” he says but there’s no heat in his words.

“Worried, then.” She shifts until she’s looking into his eyes, barely visible in the light of the moon spilling into their bedchamber. “I have heard no rumblings of rebellion, Jaime, yet you insist I go about with two Kingsguard at all times while you regularly go _without_ your Kingsguard. If I am a target, then you are doubly so.”

In the semi--darkness of the room, she sees his firm mouth quirk into a slight smile, and has a sudden urge to run her finger across his lips.

He says, “I keep forgetting you are no ordinary high--born lady, Brienne, but also a Lord Commander, used to leading an army and identifying dangers at every turn.”

“This has to do with Ser Gregor, doesn’t it? Would your sweet sister truly order my assassination?”

“My sweet sister would order anything that would get her what she wants.”

“And she wants you.”

“I thought once that was true, but what she truly desires is power and control.”

Brienne frowns as her mind races. “Our fathers?”

Jaime closes his eyes and grimaces. “I cannot see how.”

“But you fear it, nonetheless.”

His eyes are luminous in the moonlight spilling cross their bed, his handsome face even more handsome etched in light and shadow.

“Aye,” he whispers, “I fear it.”

She puts her hand on his cheek. “And with them out of the way and you truly recognized as the Southron King, there is no more need for me.”

He closes his eyes and nods.

Brienne sighs. “Then I shall suffer the presence of the Kingsguard, for your sake. I had hoped to return to my morning sparring sessions with Sandor, but mayhaps I shall wait until his brother has departed once more.”

“If Sandor is willing, you should return to it if for no other reason than I feel more at ease when you’re clad in armour with a sword on your hip. Mayhaps I should order you to wear such clothing at all times.”

Brienne’s smile is shy. “Finally, an order I would not question nor argue against.”

He grins, and she kisses him before she realizes what she’s doing.

She pulls away, blushing furiously, remembering that ladies are not supposed to be so bold with their lord husbands. “I--I’m sorry. I didn’t--”

He stops her words with his mouth and pulls her against him.

*/*/*/*/*

In the morning, Jaime’s smile is smug and Brienne blushes then bounces a piece of bread off his forehead.

He laughs, and for a moment his beauty takes her breath away.

_Two sons and done_ , she abruptly reminds herself. _Even if he does not return to his sweet sister, he will not stay with you._

Her thoughts jolt her to another one.

“Mayhaps I should stop sparring,” she blurts.

Jaime frowns. “What?”

“What if I am with child?”

He raises an eyebrow. “When was your last moon’s blood?”

She blushes again. “My moon’s blood has never been predictable,” she mutters, “probably because I am such a mannish woman.”

Jaime’s eyes and smile turn wicked. “If we did not still have a castle full of guests and a bloody kingdom to rule, I would take you back to our bed and show you again just how womanly you truly are.”

Her eyes widen as her breath catches in her throat, then she shakes her head. “No, no, we have duties, you’re right,” she mutters and Jaime’s laugh booms through their breakfast room.

“Do you wish me to stop sparring?” she says again.

“I will not make that judgment for you. You are a Lord Commander as well as a Queen. I hope you will exercise your arm only against training dummies if you suspect a child, but I will not demand it of you.”

Brienne frowns. “Why would you be so generous?”

His smile is thin. “Because you’re good. You’re very good, in fact. I find I cannot force myself to take that away from you. But I will ask you to not take unnecessary risks. The safety of the child--if there is one--is paramount.”

*/*/*/*/*

When Ser Gregor leaves King’s Landing two days later, Jaime has Qyburn, his Master of Whisperers, follow the Mountain and his men for several days as they travel the King’s Road towards Winterfell. Still, Jaime doesn’t truly relax his vigilance until there’s been no sign of the Mountain or his men anywhere in or near King’s Landing for a fortnight.

He reluctantly agrees when Brienne says she no longer needs the Kingsguard trailing behind her every step.

*/*/*/*/*

It’s several days later when Brienne finds herself at loose ends. Jaime is outside of King’s Landing, inspecting the army and meeting with his Lord Commanders. Her meetings with the castellans have ended more quickly than expected. She’s feeling achy and restless, confined by the skirts she’s wearing, and the thought of being trapped in a room with her ladies--in--waiting is suddenly too much to bear.

She heads to the training yards to batter a training dummy to dust and hopes that will ease this restlessness that is plaguing her.

She reaches the yards--empty, as is to be expected at this time of day--and strides purposefully towards the armoury. She sees movement from the corner of her eye and startles enough for the blow to hit her head at an angle rather than dead on. Still, she sees stars as she’s knocked off her feet, falling onto her hands and knees into the dirt.

She cries out in pain then looks round at her attacker. She recognizes him immediately--no other man is so monstrously large. Behind his half--helm, his mouth curves into a smile as monstrous as he is.

“How--?”

She howls as the toe of his boot connects with the pit of her stomach, lifting her off the ground and sending her rolling. Her vision is red with pain as she comes to a stop, her legs tangled in her skirts. She frantically tries to scramble away, hampered by the cloth round her legs, so she scrabbles at the seam at her waist. Her fingers falter as she stares up at the giant slowly stalking round her.

_He wants to make this last_ , she realizes, horrified, just as the seams give way and she rips her useless skirts off her. She has time to roll away from the next kick and his foot instead catches her a glancing blow to the back of her hip.

She bellows with pain and rage as she grabs a handful of dirt in one hand and finally regains her feet. She bends double, aching from the blow to her stomach but reaches into her boot and pulls out the dagger hidden there. When he sees it, the Mountain booms what she’s sure is supposed to be laughter.

_A dagger against armour_ , she thinks as she gasps for breath and forces herself to straighten, _but at least it’s something_.

He charges but her aim is true enough as she flings the dirt into his glittering eyes, blinding him for a precious moment. His feet tangle in the remnants of her skirt and he stumbles and she uses the opening to dart round him and drive her dagger into the momentarily exposed sliver of flesh where his neck meets his shoulder.

He roars and she’s not quick enough to dodge his swinging arm. It catches her in the face and she hears and feels a bone crack in her cheek as she’s again knocked off her feet, gravel scraping the bare skin of her thighs as she skids across the ground. She blinks up at the man through streaming eyes as she scoots back before once again scrambling to her feet.

_At least he knocked me in the right direction_ , she thinks as she turns and runs towards the armoury. _A sword. A sword, a shield, a helm, and then I will teach this bastard what it means to attack me!_

She hears him bellow again and she puts on speed--but his hand catches her in the middle of her back, shoving her face first into the armoury door.

She falls, dazed, blood pouring now from her nose and mouth and the gash across her forehead. His boot hits her in the small of her back and this time she screams, a high--pitched, wailing sound even as she still tries to scramble away, her hands searching for something--anything--she can use as a weapon, only now she’s pressed against a wall with no place to go and no way to avoid his blows, which are coming faster now.

The armoury door is _right there,_ she thinks, despairing, and is yet too far away.

Agony rips through her as he kicks her again. The last thing she sees is the dagger still sticking from his shoulder and hopes she managed to fucking kill him even as he’s killing her.

*/*/*/*/*

“Your Majesty! _Your Majesty!_ ”

Jaime curses as his youngest squire jumps in front of his horse as he canters into the Red Keep. His destrier shies and rears, and he spends precious moments calming the great beast while trying not to kill the foolish boy.

He curses him as he dismounts. “You could have been hurt!” he shouts. “Or worse: you could have lamed the horse!”

“That’s not important,” the boy, Hoster, he thinks his name is, cries. “The Queen-- _the Queen_!”

Jaime finally recognizes the stark terror on the boy’s face.

“ _What’s happened?_ ”

“The Queen--she’s been attacked! They’re taking her to her bedchamber now!”

Jaime doesn’t wait to hear more.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime bursts into Brienne’s bedchamber, into a swirling, confusing mass of septas and maesters and blood and bruises and those glorious eyes closed and swallowed by her swollen face.

The room spins, fades, sways, and he’s vaguely aware of Pycelle hurriedly waddling towards him but all he sees is Brienne—

“Your Majesty!” Pycelle says with an obsequiously worried smile. “You need to leave us to our work. You’ll only be in the way.”

“Will she live?”

“King Jaime—”

“ _Will she live?_ ”

Pycelle and the pinch--faced old septa from Tarth. who had hastened to follow the Grand Maester to meet Jaime at the door, both flinch back at his shout.

“It’s in the gods’ hands,” the septa says—Rhaelle? Something like that, Jaime thinks dimly as he strains to catch another glimpse of his wife. The room is still pulsing round him, almost rhythmically, like a heartbeat—

_This is madness_ , he thinks abruptly and shakes his head.

He glares at Pycelle and the septa (Ravella?) and growls, “Mayhaps it’s in the hands of the gods but the only hands I see in front of me are yours and the Grand Maester’s, and those will be the hands I will cut off if she dies.”

“Y--your Majesty,” Pycelle says, gulping, “it’s too soon to know if we have any hope of saving her. I haven’t had an opportunity yet to fully assess her injuries. You cannot seriously mean to—to—”

Jaime barely hears him as he stares at Brienne and sees the septas and the novice maesters have finally stripped her of her blood--stained smallclothes. A septa presses a square of clean white linen against the blood--soaked hair at the juncture of Brienne’s thighs and he watches as the material almost immediately turns red. The deep purplish--black bruises that cover Brienne’s stomach strike him as particularly obscene when seen against the backdrop of her freckled skin.

Jaime forces his attention back to Pycelle and the pinch--faced septa.

“Who can tell me what happened?” he barks.

Pycelle’s chins quiver with panic. “Sandor Clegane raised the alarm.”

“Where is he?”

“He said he was remaining in the training yards,” the septa (Rhaena?) says, “at least until the Kingsguard could arrive to relieve him.”

Jaime frowns. “The Kingsguard? Relieve him?”

“He’s standing guard over the body.”

Jaime feels as if he’s carved from ice, unable to feel, unable to move. Then he gives himself a shake and takes one last look at Brienne’s bruised and battered body.

“She best still be alive when I return,” he growls then spins round and leaves the room.

*/*/*/*/*

Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, straightens as Jaime stalks into the training yards. Selmy murmurs an order to his knights who discreetly fade back, leaving Selmy and Jaime staring down at the monstrously huge body. Blood has soaked the ground beneath its obviously smashed head. Jaime half--notices the dagger sticking from the juncture between the man’s neck and shoulder.

“Did the Queen do this?” Jaime demands.

Ser Barristan shakes his head. “Sandor Clegane heard the Queen’s screams.” He nods towards a great blood--stained war hammer, lying casually beside the body. “He didn’t bother to face his brother honorably,” Selmy says, disapproval dripping from every word, “but instead attacked him from behind.”

Jaime’s face is etched in harsh lines as he turns his glare from the dead Mountain to the still--living Ser Barristan.

“Sandor Clegane saved the Queen’s life,” Jaime growls.

“For the moment.”

Jaime’s hands clench into fists. “He saved the Queen’s life—whether ‘tis only for the moment or no is of no matter—and he managed to destroy the threat against her once and for all.”

Selmy’s eyes are cold. “Did he?”

Jaime’s smile is thin and cruel. “The immediate threat, then,” he says. “Does _that_ satisfy you, Ser Barristan?”

“What are you going to do?” Selmy says, his own voice harsh and cold.

“Besides rethink the leadership of my Kingsguard?” Jaime snarls and takes vicious pleasure at seeing Selmy’s judgmental expression falter.

Jaime returns his attention to the body at his feet and sneers. “Take this creature to the black cells and lock it inside.”

“He’s dead, Your Majesty!”

“He is the Mountain that Rides. Lock him in a cell in case he’s monstrous enough to rise from the dead.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime returns to Brienne’s bedchamber to find his Queen cleaned and bandaged, dosed with milk of the poppy, and sleeping as peacefully as can be expected.

He looks down at her, forcing himself to take in every swollen portion of her face—to see and acknowledge every wound. He turns to the septas.

“I want to see the rest.”

The septas look uncertainly at each other then at Grand Maester Pycelle.

“It won’t harm her,” Pycelle says with a nodding shrug.

“‘Tis indecent,” the pinch--faced septa from Tarth says.

“Septa,” Jaime grates out, “she is my sweet wife. There is nothing I have not already seen.”

The old woman’s eyes are cold, her skin sallow, and he wonders how his Brienne managed with this woman as her childhood septa.

He turns to Pycelle. “If it will not harm her, I wish Brienne to be moved to my bedchamber. The bed is larger and more comfortable, and the room can be kept warmer.”

Pycelle’s chins quiver then he bows his head. “It will not harm her, Your Majesty. It shall be done.”

Jaime turns back to the bed. The septas again exchange glances then one—young and sweet--faced with blue eyes almost as pretty as Brienne’s—steps forward and proceeds to gently reveal every bruise, every injury, every pain, every scratch, no matter how small.

Jaime forces himself to look at it all, to sear it all into his memory, to allow the truth of it to fuel his rage.

He looks at the juncture of Brienne’s thighs where he can clearly see the square of linen, folded and pinned to, and held in place by, her smallclothes.

He reaches out and lightly skims the tips of his fingers over the dark bruises that mar the perfection of her belly.

“There was no hope of saving the child,” Pycelle quickly says, wringing his hands together, “not after all that she suffered. You should also know, Your Majesty…I will not be surprised if she is unable to carry a child to term after this… _incident._ You needs must take that into account in your plans for the future of your dynasty.”

“At least you have the most eligible daughters from every Southron House already at court,” the pinch--faced septa says.

Jaime lifts his gaze and meets the blue--eyed septa’s. There must be something in his face because she catches her breath and startles back. He straightens and turns to the old septa. She, too, takes in his expression and catches her breath.

“Get out of my sight,” he says, his voice low and cold and hard. “Both of you. Get out of my sight before I forget you are a maester and a septa and I choke the life from you with my bare hands.”

They scurry away and Jaime turns back to the far--too--still figure on the bed. He nods at the young septa to once again lift the blanket and warmly cover Brienne’s body. As she does so, he gently, carefully, smooths Brienne’s hair away from the ugly gash that mars her forehead, then he leans down and brushes his lips against hers so lightly he barely touches her.

He straightens and walks out of the room without another word.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime sits on the Southron Throne, watching as Sandor Clegane enters the Throne Room. They’re alone and Clegane looks both surprised and angry at this fact but he doesn’t look away as he strides forward.

Jaime waits until the larger man is standing at the foot of the Throne before he rises to his feet and slowly descends the stairs. He stops on the last step so he is of a height with the man in front of him.

“You saved the Queen’s life,” Jaime says.

“Nah,” Clegane says, “I saved Lord Commander Brienne’s life.”

Jaime’s mouth twitches towards a smile. “Yes,” he says. “You saved Lord Commander Brienne’s life, and took your sweet brother’s life in the process.”

Clegane shrugs. “His life wasn’t worth much anyway.”

Jaime’s jaw tightens. “No,” he says, his voice harsh, “yet that does not make the decision to choose my Queen’s life over your sweet brother’s any easier to bear.”

Sandor shrugs again. “Already forgotten.”

Jaime’s lips twitch upwards as he says, “Although you saved Brienne because she is Lord Commander and not because she’s Queen, she _is_ the Queen. And my wife. I owe you a debt that can never be repaid.”

“I didn’t do it for a reward,” Clegane growls, offended.

“I never thought you did, but a reward you shall have, whenever you wish to have it. If you had not been there...” Jaime clenches his jaw and swallows with difficulty. “I was not there to protect her, and she was obviously attacked without warning and while she was unarmed or she would have been able to do more to protect herself. I can only thank the Seven and every other god in the world that you were there in my—and her—stead.”

Clegane’s eyes narrow. “You sound as if you give a shit if she lives or dies.”

“I do give a shit,” Jaime says, and clears his throat. His gaze doesn’t waver. “Do you know why your brother attacked the Queen?”

Clegane’s smile is cruel. “You know why he did it,” he all but spits. “You know who he serves.”

Jaime grits his teeth, almost staggering beneath the force of his rage.

“Aye,” he growls, “aye, I do know. And I will deal with it.”

“Just like you’ll deal with me?”

“You I shall reward. Do you want a lordship? A castle? An endless supply of wine? A whorehouse full of whores who live only to serve you?”

Clegane’s smile is bitter. “Forgive me, ser, but I shall wait to name my reward until after I’ve seen how you deal with the continuing threat to the Lord Commander.”

Jaime tilts his head in acknowledgement. “Fair enough,” he says, “nor do I blame you. If I ask for your assistance in dealing with that threat, will you give it?”

Sandor’s eyes narrow. “For her sake,” he growls, “not for yours.”

Jaime’s half--smile is bitter. “I would not expect anything else.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime returns to his bedchamber and consults with Pycelle and the septas on Brienne’s state. Once he is assured there is nothing more they can do for her that night, he dismisses them all from his bedchamber and takes a chair beside the bed.

When did it change, Jaime wonders as he watches her sleep. He can’t tear his eyes away from her face, almost desperately wishing she would open her eyes and see him. When did it change? He couldn’t say nor does it truly matter. There is only one way forward now.

Jaime leans closer and once again gently brushes Brienne’s hair away from the gash on her forehead. She stirs at the touch but doesn’t wake, and Jaime knows the milk of the poppy that Pycelle and the septas have fed her will keep her asleep through the night. He should go to her bedchamber, he thinks, stroking a feather--light touch over the only piece of her cheek that appears to be unbruised. He should go to her bed and leave her to sleep in peace.

She breathes his name in a sigh that’s almost as feather--light as his touch and he pauses, frowning. He must have imagined it, he thinks, sitting back and gently clasping her hand in a comforting grip.

She breathes his name again, a little louder and with a wealth of fear and need in the word. He blinks then hangs his head, trying to control his breathing.

He stands and loosens his clothes before slipping beneath the blankets and carefully curling round her, cautious of her injuries. Even with a fire burning cheerfully in the hearth, he now realizes she’s periodically wracked with tiny shivers. He moves closer and tells himself she relaxes against him, seeking his warmth.

His eyes drift closed and he falls into a light doze, afraid to sleep too deeply in case he were to inadvertently hurt her in his dreams.

As he hovers between waking and sleeping, Jaime feels something give way inside him. Brienne is his wife, he thinks in his half--awake state. She’s _his_ , and he will never allow her to be harmed like this again.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne drifts in comfortable darkness.

She knows she’s in pain, but the pain is a dull, throbbing ache and very, very distant. It’s also familiar; it reminds her of mailed fists and a sword tip slicing into her face, and the weight of an armoured horse crushing her into the mud.

She doesn’t want to wake. In her drifting, drugged state, she knows that when she does, the pain will be sharp and difficult to endure and the longer she can avoid that reality, the better.

There’s something else she wants to avoid, but if she doesn’t think about it, then it’s something that is just wind and not something she needs to acknowledge.

“Brienne.”

She turns her head a little towards the voice, yearning for something else she doesn’t want to think about yet.

“Brienne.”

The voice is luring her closer, but she’s safe in this darkness. She doesn’t want to open her eyes and face the light.

“Brienne. Please.”

She can’t ignore that voice anymore and her eyes flutter open. Her vision is blurred yet he seems to be crystal clear: golden hair, green eyes and his far--too--handsome face hovering over her. She blinks.

“There you are,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumbling purr. “‘Tis past time for you to wake.”

“No,” she mutters, her tongue thick and woolly.

His chuckle is soft and not unkind. “Yes,” he says. She feels his hand grasp hers and give it a comforting squeeze. “Have no fear, Brienne, you will be safe when you wake, and you will have justice.” His smile is cold although his hand is warm. “I have already taken steps to ensure it.”

*/*/*/*/*

Time passes for Brienne in a blur of brutal memories and pain and milk of the poppy, of septas and maesters and Jaime, until finally she opens her eyes, her mind and body aching, to see two septas leaning over her: a smiling blue--eyed young woman, and Septa Roelle, with her bitter eyes and pinched mouth.

Brienne blinks, frowns and mumbles through still--swollen lips, “What day is it?”

Septa Roelle tells her and adds, “You’ve been abed four days now, Brienne.”

Brienne frowns.

“The King ordered you be kept as free of pain as possible,” the young septa hurries to say, “and for you to rest.”

“And to keep you out of sight until the swelling went down,” Septa Roelle mutters, fussing with the blanket covering Brienne to her shoulders.

The young septa shoots the old one an indecipherable look before she turns back to Brienne with a comforting smile. “What do you remember?” she asks, her voice kind.

“Enough,” Brienne mumbles through lips that don’t seem to want to work for more reasons than simply the drugs she’s been fed. She closes her eyes and immediately tumbles back into sleep.

*/*/*/*/*

The next time she wakes, the room is dim, lit only by the fires in the hearths. Jaime is curled round her; not closely enough to cause discomfort but sufficient for her to draw strength and comfort from his heat and bulk.

She slowly, painfully, shifts on to her side to face him and he immediately wakes.

They gaze deep into each other’s eyes before he carefully brushes the hair from her forehead and gathers her close.

*/*/*/*/*

When did it change, she wonders as she listens to the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. When did this man change from her enemy to the one she trusts most?

In the stillness of their bedchamber, with his arms round her, his hands soothing, she tells him what she remembers of the attack.

“If you had had a sword,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against her cheek, “I have no doubt you would have prevailed.”

“He still would have won, Jaime.”

“You would have managed to escape him long enough to seek help.”

She wants to laugh, but her face is still swollen and sore.

He says, “There’s something else you need to know before you hear it elsewhere.”

Her heart freezes in her chest, and faint memories surface. She swallows heavily and says, “There really was a child, wasn’t there?”

Jaime’s fingers smooth gently against her shoulder. “Yes.”

Brienne lets it sink in, lets it settle. A babe, she thinks, a babe with their father’s beauty and both parents’ skill with the sword.

A babe she will never see.

She sniffs back the tears that fill her still--sore eyes.

“There’s more,” Jaime says, slowly, his voice tight. “Grand Maester Pycelle does not know if you will be able to bear children after this.”

Now Brienne can’t stop the tears from seeping from her eyes.

_All you ever wanted was the strength in my belly_ , she thinks and allows herself to weep.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne is helped from her bed the next day by Septa Roelle and the sweet--faced young septa whose name, Brienne learns, is Tyene. Brienne’s legs feel shaky and weak and she leans on both septas as she carefully paces the Royal apartment.

“I’ve put sheets over all the mirrors, Lady Brienne,” Septa Roelle says as they approach the sitting room.

Brienne wants to laugh at her old septa’s concern.

“I have been injured before,” she says mildly, “and far worse than this.” She glances at Tyene. “At least he only cracked my cheek and my nose. Better than a broken leg.”

“You’ve had your leg broken, Your Majesty?” Tyene asks and she sounds honestly curious.

“Aye, when my destrier fell atop me in a battle. I was lucky he did not break my spine.”

Roelle sniffs. “You still have no understanding of what a lady should speak on, Brienne. You are queen now; you needs must watch your tongue.”

“This is her first day out of her sickbed,” Tyene says, her gentle voice calm and soothing. “Let her speak on her injuries, old and new. There is no one to hear but us.”

Septa Roelle glares at the younger septa.

“I shall mind my tongue tomorrow, Septa Roelle,” Brienne says with a weary sigh. “For today, just let me make it back to my bed under my own power.”

*/*/*/*/*

She naps then walks the apartment again and this time it’s easier. Despite Septa Roelle’s protests, she pulls the sheet from the mirrors and considers her injuries. Her face is still swollen, the bruises dark and livid.

She turns away from the sight then sends Roelle on an errand to the kitchens, and asks Tyene for assistance. With the young septa’s help, Brienne struggles out of her nightclothes so she can see all that was done to her.

She considers her injuries, then she slowly places her hands over the bruises on her belly. She bows her head and says a quick prayer to the Mother and the Stranger. There are tears in her eyes when she again lifts her head.

“‘Tis a pity about the babe,” Tyene says as she helps Brienne back into her nightclothes.

“Yes,” Brienne sighs, “and ‘tis even more a pity about all the future ones I’ve lost as well.”

“You haven’t lost them yet, Your Majesty, and not even Grand Maesters are skilled enough to know such things for certain. For now, you need to worry only about healing from this cowardly attack upon your person, and let the future be what it is.”

*/*/*/*/*

That night, she tells Jaime she feels better and snuggles as close against him as her still tender body can bear. She closes her eyes and drifts towards sleep and wonders why, despite everything, despite her lingering questions and fears, she feels... _safe._

*/*/*/*/*

As the days pass, Brienne begins to chafe at the restrictions of her healing body and Jaime’s request she rest as much as possible.

Brienne paces the apartment while Septa Roelle watches her with her mouth pinched even tighter and Septa Tyene watches with an amused expression.

“I don’t believe this is what the King meant by ‘rest’,” Tyene finally says as Brienne finishes her third circuit of her rooms.

Brienne snorts then winces at the small stab of pain that lances through her nose at the act.

Roelle sniffs. “Still so careless even after all these years. ‘Tis no wonder the small council has been urging the King to set you aside.”

The words hit Brienne harder than even the Mountain’s boot.

“Septa!” Tyene says, her voice sharp. “The Queen is still not well enough to be bothered with the machinations of a few stupid men.”

“No,” Brienne says, just as sharply. “Tell me what you mean.”

Septa Roelle peers uncertainly at Brienne before an odd, almost triumphant, expression crosses her face. “The King has not shared that with you?”

“What the King and I share is of no import to you. Tell me what you mean or stay silent in my presence. I have no more patience for petty games.”

Septa Roelle’s eyes narrow. “Since you ask so prettily,” she says, her voice as acidic as her expression, “the small council has been begging the King to make plans for when he sets you aside. ‘Tis well--known yours is not a love match, and with King Selwyn dead and Jaime crowned as King of the Stormlands, there is no further need to maintain your farce of a marriage especially since you are unlikely to be able to bear a child. It was the only reason for the marriage after all, although how they thought one such as you could be a mother in the first place...well, your sweet father never did want to see the truth of you. No matter. Some also believe Ser Gregor stole your honor and that, coupled with the fact you are almost certainly barren, has the small council advocating for the King to set you aside and choose a new bride.”

Rage blossoms red in Brienne’s vision.

“By the gods,” she grits out from between clenched teeth, “it’s only been ten days!”

Roelle spreads her hands wide and shrugs. “You asked, Your Majesty.”

“And my royal husband? What says he to these arguments?”

“King Jaime says only that his sweet sister’s child will be his heir as well as King Eddard’s and there is therefore no haste to determine your future now. In fact, Queen Cersei and her husband are even now being asked to travel to King’s Landing so King Jaime may be one of the first to see the new babe’s face when it’s born. I’ve heard Lord Sandor Clegane has been tasked with the honor of escorting them to King’s Landing as a reward for his bravery in saving you from his brother.”

The red mist in front of her eyes darkens and Brienne clenches her hands into fists.

“Thank you, Septa Roelle,” she manages to say with a reasonable amount of control. “Leave me now.”

Septa Roelle bows her head and both septas stand and start towards the door.

“Septa Tyene, I wish you to stay,” Brienne calls.

Tyene glances at Roelle, who is shooting suspicious glares at both of them.

Roelle says, “Brienne…”

“I am no longer a child in a nursery, Septa Roelle. I am the Queen. Please. Leave. Now.”

Brienne can see Roelle grit her teeth but the older woman once again bows her head and gently closes the door behind her.

Brienne looks to Tyene and rises. She latches the door then says, “Follow me,” and leads the septa into the dressing room that separates the King’s bedchamber from the Queen’s.

Brienne turns to Tyene and says, “I have no doubt there are ears in the walls even here, but at least we can pretend to have privacy.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“How much of what Septa Roelle said is true?”

Tyene pauses, her pretty face creasing with a frown. “‘Tis true people believe Ser Gregor raped you. You were found in only your smallclothes, your skirts torn away, and your loins were bloodied.”

“I ripped off my own skirts,” Brienne says flatly, “they were slowing me down.”

Tyene raises an eyebrow. “Not many women would make such a choice,” she murmurs.

“Not many women have led men into battle, septa.”

“Still, such a decision has led to speculation. Everyone suspects you have been dishonored.”

“That doesn’t make it true.”

“It does make it more difficult to maintain the respect of the small council.”

“The small council should worry more about retaining _my_ respect.”

Tyene tries to suppress a smile and fails.

Brienne takes a deep calming breath. “And the King? What does the King say in response to these innuendos and demands?”

“More or less as Septa Roelle described. He points out he will have another heir once Queen Cersei gives birth. Where Septa Roelle’s description is faulty is that the King has made it clear he believes you have not been dishonored and he has no intention of setting you aside, barren or no.” She leans forward, eyes intent on Brienne. “This is all idle gossip, Your Majesty. Once you are again about your duties, these whispers shall die away. It is unfortunate you are no longer—” She stops and bites her lip.

“Pregnant? Do you think the whispers would die away or would they simply become louder as people wonder who fathered my child?”

Tyene sighs and leans back in her chair. “You are right to question it, Your Majesty: these whisperings are not natural. They are being fuelled by more than just the normal gossip after such a thing as this.”

“Who, then, is still working against me? And through me, against the King?”

“That, I do not know.”

The bright red band constricting Brienne’s chest eases ever so slightly then she frowns. “How do you know all this?”

Tyene’s smile is beatific. “Words are wind, Your Majesty, and are therefore in the air. You can hear every word ever spoken if you only know how to listen.”

Brienne scowls as much as she can through her still swollen face, then says, “Since you know how to listen…I have a task for you.”

Tyene raises an eyebrow.

“Ser Gregor managed to remain hidden in this city—in this castle—until he saw an opportunity to strike. Someone was helping him. If words are indeed wind and therefore in the air, then I wish to know who it was and how many of them.”

“You know who is most likely,” Tyene says.

“Aye. Qyburn is the Master of Whisperers and he is not so incompetent that the Mountain that Rides would have escaped his notice. But are there others?”

Tyene bows her head. “I shall see what I can discover, Your Majesty.” She calmly meets Brienne’s gaze.

Brienne gives her a half--smile. “Do not think me foolish, septa, trusting you with such a task. I am neither naive nor gullible, and it may be to your benefit to remember that I will never forgive anyone who helped the Mountain take our heir away from us, or helps hide the guilty parties from my vengeance. I will not forgive anyone who lies to me about them either.”

Tyene’s eyes widen. “I will not lie to you, Your Majesty.”

Brienne nods and rises. “Help me dress. Breeches and gambeson and sword.”

Tyene rises as well, alarm writ large on her face. “Where do you wish to go?”

“Why, to the King’s meeting with the small council, of course.”

*/*/*/*/*

It takes her longer than she likes to make ready and to walk to the small council room. She had hoped to be there when the men arrived but instead she is outside, the door cracked slightly open, listening to Jaime argue with his advisors.

“I am sick of this debate, my lords,” Jaime growls. “The Queen is only recently out of her sick bed, a sick bed we feared she would never leave! Enough of this talk of setting her aside!”

“Everyone knows ‘tis not a love match,” Lord Randyll Tarly replies, “and no one will be surprised if you return her to Tarth and marry a more proper daughter of a great House.”

“Where is this animosity coming from, Lord Tarly?” Jaime snaps. “You seemed to like her well enough before this incident.”

“She is a decent Queen, I’ll admit,” Lord Randyll says. “My daughter is surprisingly fond of her and says it is the first time she’s enjoyed being a lady--in--waiting—no offense, Your Majesty, to your sweet sister. But the only reason for your marriage was to unite the Stormlands with the rest of Westeros and to establish a new dynasty. She’s brought you the Stormlands but without the possibility of a child then she is of no more use to you.”

“You are a short--sighted fool. Do you think the Stormlands would sit and do nothing if I set aside their Queen? They loved their Evenstar; they love his daughter. They followed her in the field of battle as she held their armies steady against us for three years. Your lack of foresight is a surprise, as my sweet father did not suffer fools gladly, or are you simply all he had available at the time?”

“Just because you dislike what we have to say does not make us fools,” Lord Mace Tyrell snaps.

“My sweet sister is with child,” Jaime says, “and that child will be my heir as well as King Eddard’s. Mayhaps that is enough. If that child inherits both the North and the South, then Westeros will be united as it once was, when the Targaryen kings sat the Iron Throne.”

“And that child would be a Stark, not a Lannister,” Lord Kevan Lannister says. “What would your sweet father think of that? You needs must remember the importance of your House.”

Brienne pushes open the door. “Yes,” she says, more calmly than she feels as she strides inside, “the King must think of his House, just as I must think of mine.”

Jaime scrambles to his feet. “Brienne! You should be resting!”

She paces to his side, her hand resting comfortably on the hilt of her sword, taking almost perverse pleasure in the shocked looks on the councillors’ faces as they take in her injuries.

“I am not a wilting flower, Your Majesty,” she says, stopping beside him and turning to the watching men. “I am the Lord Commander of the Evenstar’s army, and I am the Queen.” She turns her glare on each man in turn. “You seem to believe that if Jaime set me aside that I would have no choice but to go quietly. I made a promise to my sweet father and to the people who followed him.”

“If you’re barren—” Lord Randyll begins, but Brienne lifts her hand to stop his words.

“ _If_! You all seem unduly anxious to leap to that conclusion although it’s only been ten days since I lost the babe I was carrying. Ser Gregor made a point of attacking my belly when he could have simply killed me outright. He intended us to know he killed our babe, and now here you sit, trying to oust your Queen.” She hopes her smile is grotesque when seen through her bruises and swollen flesh. “You are all so anxious to remove me, I am beginning to wonder who else may have aided the Mountain in his attempt on my life.”

She’s pleased to see the men before her flush and squirm. She paces slowly in front of them, her hand tightening on her sword. “I will learn of all who was behind this attack on my person and I would like to remind you: I am a kind woman, but an unforgiving enemy.”

She turns to Jaime and raises an eyebrow. “Mayhaps we need to reconsider the membership of the small council.”

Jaime smirks. “My thoughts exactly, Your Majesty.” He glances at the men from the corner of his eyes then says, “Come, Brienne, let me take you to find some less rank air.”

She daintily accepts his arm and doesn’t look back as they sweep from the room.

*/*/*/*/*

“You’re mad,” he says with a half--laugh, half--sigh once they’re outside.

“Mayhaps,” she says, “but at least it gave me reason to leave our apartments.”

“You should go back and rest.”

“I’m sick of those walls,” she mutters and Jaime chuckles.

“Then far be it from me to force you back into such dull surroundings. If you are sure you’re up to it, I’ll order a carriage. Let us go for a ride through King’s Landing and let the smallfolk see their Queen still lives.”

*/*/*/*/*

They are escorted by the Kingsguard through the streets of the city. The knights keep careful watch but are far enough away that Jaime and Brienne can speak privately even as they smile and answer the waves of the smallfolk.

Brienne realizes the air is already cooler than she remembers from the day she was attacked. Even through the stench of the city she can smell that summer is fading and the taste of autumn is in the air.

Brienne lifts a hand in greeting to a group of gaping smallfolk then she sighs.

“As much as I hate to admit it, those buffoons are right about one thing, Jaime. If I am barren—”

“You told them yourself it is too soon to know that,” he says, tilting his handsome head to two pretty young girls who blush and beam in response. “Besides, we struck a bargain, you and I. Two, in fact. We promised our fathers we would unite the realm into one Southron kingdom, and then we struck our own bargain: two sons. Are you so craven you would break your word at the first suggestion of defeat?”

She glares. “I may not be able to keep my word.”

“Does that mean you are not willing to try?”

She sighs. “Of course not.” She lifts her hand again to greet a smallfolk then turns to him. “There is someone working against us, here in King’s Landing.”

“Aye, I know. Why do you think I’ve brought all seven Kingsguard with us? I’ve also ordered six food tasters, three for each of us.”

“What? Why? Cersei would not harm you!”

“Cersei desires power and control. She is also my heir. If I die before her, she inherits the Southron Throne in her own right.”

Brienne’s jaw slowly drops.

Jaime’s smile is thin and humorless. “You should be flattered. I suspect she tried to kill you first so she would not have to battle you for the Throne.”

“But her child—”

“If a boy, it will outrank her, true. If a girl, Cersei would then take precedence. If she’s even pregnant at all.”

“ _If_ —she cannot be the monster you make her out to be!”

Jaime’s sudden bark of laughter is harsh and cold and utterly humorless.

He says, “The truth of Cersei is as easy to grasp as smoke in your hands. How much is real? How much are lies? What are actions actually taken and what are simply opportunities grasped? The only thing I know for certain is that everything Cersei does is done to feed her own ambition.”

Brienne sits in silence as the carriage rumbles through the streets, chewing on his words and wondering what it all means. It is too much for her at the moment so she sighs and turns her thoughts to something simpler.

“ _Lord_ Sandor?” she says.

Jaime gives her a slight smirk. “I see you have your own Master of Whisperers. I gave him a lordship, although he did not wish it. He doesn’t like the title but it was intended as a reward for saving your life.”

She huffs a chuckle. “You’ve sent him to Winterfell?”

“Aye, along with his brother’s bones, a letter to the King, and half our army.”

“So you are not inviting Cersei and King Eddard to King’s Landing as your honored guests?”

“Gods, no! She is to be brought here as my prisoner even if we have to tear down Winterfell’s walls to achieve it.”

*/*/*/*/*

The days pass in relative peace. Brienne returns to her duties as Queen and she is both surprised and touched by the warm concern expressed by her ladies--in--waiting. Whether the concern is sincere is a question she decides she does not need to consider.

Septa Roelle continues to whisper cruel rumors in her ear, rumors Brienne then turns to Tyene to confirm. Brienne finds there is always something twisted ever so slightly in Roelle’s gossip and she wonders what is driving such venom towards her from her childhood septa.

Tyene is working carefully, teasing out bits and pieces of information, all of which point in the direction of Qyburn. The Master of Whisperers and the rest of the small council have returned to treating her with remote courtesy although they still glare resentfully at her as she sits at Jaime’s side during their meetings.

While Tyene’s questing has so far not revealed any other conspirators, Brienne is still suspicious of every high born she sees, including the members of the small council. Of one thing she is certain, however: Jaime did not assist Cersei with the assault against her, and he will not set her aside any time soon.

Mayhaps she’s naive, she thinks as he slides into the bed beside her, and he is only waiting for Cersei to arrive with his babe in her belly before he sets Brienne aside.

But her doubts disappear as he stretches out beside her and gathers her in his arms. She sighs with content as she slides her leg between his and presses closer.

Just like all the nights since she woke from her attack, they speak in soft tones of the events of the day, their plans for the following day, of who they might place on the small council when the time is right, of the things that concern them as monarchs. They then speak of gossip and worries, of things that might amuse the other, or share gentle memories of their pasts, and there’s something about this quiet intimacy that, to Brienne, feels like water falling in the desert. Something is blooming inside her with every word, and every night she allows herself to simply let it all be.

On this night, they finally lapse into comfortable, relaxed silence. With his body, long and lean and warm and solid beside hers, Brienne finds herself longing for something more.

She presses closer and strokes her hand down his back and over his flank.

“You’re still too sore, Brienne,” Jaime groans even as she feels his cock stir.

“We can be careful,” she says and he gives a pained chuckle.

“Mayhaps _you_ can be careful! I have been yearning to take you since you first opened your eyes. I may not have enough control to be mindful of your injuries.”

“It’s been a full turn of the moon,” Brienne says, lifting herself so she can look down at him, “and do you truly think I will not stop you if you hurt me?”

He reaches up and cups her cheek. “Brienne,” he whispers, and guides her mouth to his.

*/*/*/*/*

The raven arrives two days later.

“The King in the North is on his way to King’s Landing,” Jaime tells Brienne and the small council. “We needs must make him and my sweet sister welcome.”

*/*/*/*/*

“What are you going to do?” Brienne asks that night in the quiet, dark peace of their bed.

Jaime closes his eyes. “I don’t know. Mayhaps the more important question is what are _you_ going to do?”

*/*/*/*/*

They still have no answers even three weeks on, as Eddard Stark’s royal coach sweeps into the courtyard of the Red Keep. They watch from the ramparts of Maegor’s Holdfast as Sandor Clegane, as courtly as any lord born to the station, assists the Queen in the North from the carriage. Even from this distance, Cersei’s golden beauty is blinding.

Brienne turns her head and looks at Jaime.

His face is expressionless as he stares at her then he abruptly turns, his cloak a swirl of red and gold, and hurries down the steps to greet his sister.

*/*/*/*/*

Cersei is as beautiful as always, and like a trained dog, Jaime’s cock stirs at the sight of her. Then he remembers Brienne’s bruised and bloodied body and any desire for the woman in front of him disappears as quickly as the morning dew.

Cersei’s smirk is arrogant and cold.

“You needs must be careful, sweet brother. The King in the North keeps close watch over what he considers his. Your presence in my apartment so quickly after our arrival will have the tongues of the Northmen wagging before they’ve even unsaddled their horses.”

Jaime’s response is just as cold. “Let their tongues wag.”

Cersei’s expression turns triumphant. “I knew you called us here to claim me as your own,” she purrs and steps into his arms and lifts her face for his kiss.

He holds her close for a moment, taking note of the gentle swell of her belly pressing against him before he carefully sets her away.

“I have done no such thing,” he says.

She abruptly turns her shoulder to him. “Then why have you risked my life and the life of my babe to drag me all this way?”

Jaime’s smile is cruel. “You know why. Lord Sandor Clegane returned his brother’s bones to your gentle care and told you the circumstances of his death.”

Cersei shrugs one elegantly graceful shoulder. “What care I for the Mountain’s end? He was a monster anyway.”

“Considering he died attempting to fulfill your orders, I think you care a great deal. He succeeded in causing my wife to lose the child she was carrying even if he didn’t succeed in killing her.”

Cersei’s smile is brief and brittle. “I heard. Pity.”

“No more games, Cersei,” Jaime says, suddenly tired. “I know you sent the Mountain to kill Brienne, just like you killed Melara and Lysa and Margaery. I suppose you think I should just be grateful you allowed me to marry at all!”

Cersei sniffs. “You know how jealous I am of you, Jaime.”

“Jealous. Yes. But not because you lust for my body nor love me so much you cannot stand to see another woman have me. You lust only for the Southron Throne.”

She glares. “You’re mad,” she says, her voice flat. “I have the Northern Throne—”

“Because your sweet husband calls you Queen, which he only does because he hopes the whelp you’re carrying is his. Is it?”

“You know whose babe it is.”

“We will know soon enough. If it is mine, you should be in the child--bed within days. In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t have the babe on the way here.”

Cersei’s face twists with anger. “That bitch you married has turned you cruel! The babe will arrive when it arrives; mayhaps I will convince King Eddard to leave again within the next few days.”

“You are not so stupid, Cersei. You tried to kill the Southron Queen. You will not be returning to the North. You will never again be allowed out of these rooms.”

Cersei’s expression doesn’t change as she stares at him. “You’re mad. Ned may bear no love for me, but he will not allow his Queen to be held captive on a whim!”

“It is not a whim. Ser Gregor Clegane was caught in the act of attempting to beat my wife to death. He was obeying your orders, and ‘tis not the first time you have murdered a woman who was in your way.”

Cersei’s lip curls into a sneer. “You have no courage, sweet brother. If I hadn’t intervened, you would have gone to your fate like the little lamb you are. None of those girls were good enough for you.”

“And Elia? Was Elia for me, too, sweet sister? And what of our father?”

“I had nothing to do with our father’s death,” she snaps. “I am no kinslayer!”

“King Selwyn, then.”

She shrugs. “The sooner we had the Stormlands, the sooner you could rid yourself of that ugly cow you were forced to marry. Tell me, sweet brother, do you dream of me while you fuck her?”

“I do not dream of you at all,” he says, his voice flat and cold. “The only reason you still live is because of the babe in your belly. If there’s any babe at all.”

Her palm slams against his cheek.

He smirks. “Touched a nerve, sweet sister?” He strides to the door and opens it. King Eddard and Brienne step inside, followed by Septa Tyene and several novices.

Jaime glances at Ned and Brienne and, judging from their faces, they’ve heard all that was needed. He turns to Tyene and says, “Examine her and let me know what you find.”

He leaves the room without looking back.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne finds him on the ramparts of Maegor’s Holdfast, staring down at the courtyard. She quietly takes her place by his side and they stand in surprisingly companionable silence for several moments.

“The septas have finished their examination,” Brienne finally says, her voice quiet.

Jaime’s hands tighten on the stone wall he’s leaning on.

“She _is_ with child, but they estimate she has several months—mayhaps as many as five—before the child will be born.”

Jaime’s mind whirls then he slowly relaxes. “Then it isn’t mine.”

“No.”

He lets out a pent--up breath and bows his head.

“I’m sorry,” Brienne says and he frowns.

“Why would you be sorry?”

She looks away. “Your natural child, even if bastard born. Easy enough to legitimize once born. Easier than setting me aside and taking a new bride.”

Jaime doesn’t know if he should laugh or shout at her.

“I have no desire for a child from Cersei,” he says flatly. “Remember: her child is my heir regardless of the father. If King Eddard decides to deny the child, then, again, I can legitimize them and raise them as my legitimate nephew or niece, alongside any children we may have.”

“Jaime—”

“You’re young, Brienne, and we may not know for years if we will ever have children together. Under the circumstances, Cersei’s babe is heir enough.” His shoulders slump as he turns back to staring out at the courtyard of the Red Keep. “Mayhaps it would be best if we allow this Lannister line die out.”

“What? Why?”

He shakes his head, his lips tight. Brienne stands, silent and stolid beside him, and he draws greater strength from her presence than he cares to admit.

Finally, he says, “I’ve prayed for years that she is not the monster she claims to be, that her claims of murder and betrayal were lies, like all else about her. A child from one such as her, on any Throne at all, worries me. The best thing will be if King Eddard claims the child and raises them in the North, far from King’s Landing and any Lannister. Mayhaps then they will have a chance.”

Brienne puts a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Jaime, please.”

He bows his head and says, “Cersei claims to have murdered every one of my betrothed. She murdered Elia Martell; that I know for certain. She swears the children she bore Rhaegar died natural deaths...but what is truth? What is lie?” He slams a fist down on top of the stone rampart and rejoices in the sharp pain of it. “How could I have so blindly loved a woman like that for so long?”

*/*/*/*/*

King Eddard worries on the problem for several days then decides to claim the child as his.

His long, thin face is wry as he says, “I, too, need an heir, King Jaime, and there are few Northern marriage--aged women at the moment…unless you want to consider the Freys.”

Jaime allows a brief smile to cross his face at that. “True,” he says. “There are some Martells, I understand.”

“Only those who are bastard born, now that Princess Arianne is betrothed to some Essos nobleman.” Ned grimaces. “If only Prince Oberyn had bothered to marry at least one of the mothers!”

Jaime chuckles.

Ned sighs. “In the North, there’s only House Mormont with one daughter unspoken for. Lady Lyanna is only ten and I would need to wait until she’s of age. Still, if she is as fierce as her mother and older sisters, she would make a fine Queen in the North.”

“Or marry her to your son, if Cersei births a boy.”

Ned’s smile is bittersweet. “You know how risky it is to put all your dynastic hopes into one frail babe.”

Jaime’s smile is just as bittersweet. “I may have no more choice than you, Your Majesty.”

*/*/*/*/*

Septa Tyene gracefully sits on the chair in Brienne’s dressing room, and not for the first time, Brienne wonders why such a beautiful girl would choose the life of a septa.

The thought flits away as Tyene leans closer and says, “I have listened to the gossip of the smallfolk, Your Majesty, and no one knows the truth of what is happening with Queen Cersei. The only gossip I’ve heard is filled with worries that she is in confinement because her pregnancy is taking a heavy toll upon her. No one has speculated her confinement is because she has committed a crime.”

Brienne’s not certain if she’s relieved or angry. She and Jaime and Ned agreed to attempt to hide the true reason for Cersei’s disappearance from public life so there would no taint on the child once born. There are days she still struggles with the decision, when she wants to walk the streets of King’s Landing screaming out the truth of Cersei’s crimes.

But they needs must protect the child, innocent of all their mother has done, for as long as possible.

Besides, they are still undecided as to what to do with Cersei.

“I have more troubling news,” Tyene says and Brienne snaps back to the present.

“Oh?”

“Qyburn has been seen in Queen Cersei’s apartment.”

Brienne raises an eyebrow. “Any hint as to what they have been speaking on?”

Tyene shrugs. “Treason, of course.” She lowers her voice. “His agents are everywhere in the Red Keep, waiting only for his command to strike. This time, ‘tis not just you. I’ve heard that King Jaime is also a target.”

To Brienne’s shame, she welcomes this new threat. While not easily thwarted, it at least gives them something they can do.

“Is there anyone else working with Qyburn?” she asks.

“No other high--borns, Your Majesty, although he does have an extensive network of spies.”

Brienne nods. “Good.” She gives Tyene a thoughtful look. “You are very good at this, septa.”

Tyene’s smile is almost horrifying in its innocence, but she says nothing.

Brienne stands and says, “We will soon need a new Master of Whisperers.”

“I am only effective because everyone trusts a septa,” Tyene says, looking alarmed for the first time since Brienne met her.

Brienne’s smile is slow. “Who says anyone else will know?”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne speaks to Jaime and two days later, Qyburn’s body is discovered floating in the waters of Blackwater Bay.

They tell the rest of the small council they have decided the new Master of Whisperers has no need to be on the small council and refuse to tell them who it is.

Brienne takes almost sadistic pleasure in watching the men squirm.

*/*/*/*/*

The days drift by and turn into weeks and then months.

Jaime and Brienne go about their duties and to Brienne’s relief, they seem more alike than different in their decisions and goals. At night, in the dark cocoon of their bedchamber, they talk and love and talk again. It’s on one such night when Jaime cups her breast and she lets out a sharp hiss and bats his hand away.

He lifts his head and frowns. “What is it?”

She scowls up at him, protectively covering her still--stinging breast. “That hurt!”

He blinks at her and her own eyes widen, and then they’re scrambling to light the lanterns. They carefully inspect her body, Jaime gently gliding his palms over every curve and line of her body, carefully weighing her small breasts in his hands, and paying special attention to the small curve of her belly.

“By the gods,” he whispers, his eyes wide and shining.

“Don’t…” she says, tears standing in her eyes. “This may be wishful thinking, and even if true—there may not be a healthy babe at the end of it.”

His smile is wide and open and as happy as any child’s as he pulls her close. “Mayhaps,” he says, “but for tonight, just for tonight, let us simply be _happy_.”

She sniffles and nods, and he smooths his hands down her back and kisses her.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne steps into Cersei’s apartment and stops on the threshold.

The former Queen in the North, the last Queen of a Targaryen King, turns to face her.

Cersei is as beautiful as always, her body heavy with child. Her eyes are cold as she arches one elegant eyebrow and she sneers as she recognizes who has come to visit her.

They stare at each other in silence, and Brienne wonders why she allowed this woman to ever intimidate her. Cersei’s monstrous, yes, but not a monster, delicately built and more fragile than Brienne will ever be.

The silence stretches until Brienne finally says, “I’m only here so you can see your failure with your own eyes. Not only am I still alive, I am also with child.”

Cersei’s beautiful face twists and becomes something ugly. “You lie.”

Brienne turns slightly and smooths her hand over her dress so Cersei can see the gentle swell of her belly.

“You’ve failed, Cersei,” Brienne says, her voice coolly calm. “I’m alive, and I will give Jaime the children he desires. You, sadly, will end up with nothing.”

Cersei sneers. “Jaime’s mine, you besotted cow. I may be a prisoner now in these apartments, but do not deceive yourself. When he has his heirs, he’ll seek my bed again.” Her sneer turns to a mocking smile. “Enjoy the Southron Throne while you can, because in the end, that will be mine as well. It has always been mine.”

Brienne stares at Cersei in disbelief and, to her surprise, with pity. _She’s mad_ , she thinks, and finds she cannot bring herself to hate the other woman.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and means it. “You will never have either of those ever again.”

Cersei glides to her, and Brienne catches her hand as she tries to slap her.

“Truly?” Brienne says in mocking disbelief and laughs.

Cersei growls and tries to land a punch in Brienne’s belly, but Brienne dances away and reacts, remembering only at the last moment to pull her punch.

Cersei cries out as blood spurts from her nose and she staggers back, almost falling. Brienne quickly catches her and sets her back on her feet.

She lets go of Cersei’s shoulders and says, very calmly, “Next time I’ll kill you,” before she turns and leaves the room.

*/*/*/*/*

Cersei goes into labour that afternoon, and the following morning, she is delivered of a dark--haired boy.

Jaime catches only a glimpse of his sweet sister lying on the bed. Septa Tyene leans over her while a novice steps out of the bedroom and places the swaddled child in King Eddard’s arms.

When word arrives the next day that Cersei died in her child--bed, Jaime looks at Brienne and wonders if she took her vengeance.

He doesn’t blame her if she did.

*/*/*/*/*

They bury Cersei with all the ceremony befitting a Queen, but her bones are to be sent to Casterly Rock to be laid to rest beside her mother. Word is also quietly spreading through King’s Landing that any mention of Queen Cersei in the city is to be removed and she is to be allowed to fade into history.

Brienne stands beside Jaime as the funeral procession leave the Red Keep and wonders if Jaime had rendered his own justice on Cersei as punishment for his sweet sister’s crimes.

She turns and sees his face, cold and expressionless as he watches the funeral carriage disappear through the gates.

She doesn’t blame him if he did.

*/*/*/*/*

King Eddard departs for the North with the little prince and a wet nurse by his side. Jaime and Brienne replace their small council and turn their attention to the business of governing a kingdom still damaged from war.

Both of them anxiously await the birth of their child.

But there’s still one monster Brienne needs to slay: she has not been back to the training yard where Ser Gregor attacked her. She returned to sparring as soon as her injuries permitted it, but she and Sandor met in their isolated courtyard until he departed the Red Keep to take up his new duties as Lord Clegane at Castermere.

Now she asks Jaime to escort her and he walks silently beside her as she paces the yard, reliving every moment, each thought, every action. She stops beside the wall next to the armoury door.

“I was so close,” she whispers.

Jaime quietly watches her.

Brienne takes a deep breath and turns to face him. “I will return here to spar once I have recovered from birthing your babe.”

Jaime’s smile is slow and proud. “I know,” he says, then leans closer. “Our storeroom is still open as well.”

She blushes and gives him a shy grin.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne sometimes thinks on Cersei’s fate and while she has her suspicions, she sometimes wonders if the former Queen had truly died a natural death. The child bed is notoriously dangerous for women—Brienne’s own mother died birthing her—and as her time draws near, she can’t help but wonder if she will fare any better.

Septa Roelle is of little comfort, although her jibes that Brienne is large enough to birth a litter of lion cubs actually makes her feel a little more confident about the birth.

After one particularly acidic exchange, Brienne sends Septa Roelle from her presence and paces restlessly, wearily rubbing her aching back.

“Forgive her, Your Majesty,” Septa Tyene says, “she’s been consumed with envy and hate for so long, she knows nothing else.”

Brienne scowls at her as Brienne sits then gets again to her feet, unable to get comfortable. “Envy and hate?”

“She loved your father, you know. Loved him even before he married your mother. She says you look so much like her that she has never been able to get past it.”

Brienne’s jaw slowly drops and for a moment she forgets her aching back. “ _What?_ ”

Tyene spreads her hands in a shrug. “If your mother had lived, mayhaps Septa Roelle would have taken her jealousy out on her instead of a defenseless, motherless child. But we are all women, even if we wear the robes of a septa, and we are all human. We love, we hate, we fear, and we make mistakes.”

Brienne blinks, then winces as her back muscles spasm.

“Mayhaps I need to send her back to Tarth,” she says.

Tyene’s eyes are watchful. “Mayhaps,” she says.

Brienne cries out in surprise as there’s a sudden gush of liquid from between her legs.

She gapes down at the pool of water on the floor and Tyene chuckles.

“The question of what to do about Septa Roelle definitely needs to wait for later.”

*/*/*/*/*

The sun has set and risen and set again by the time the door to the bedchamber finally opens and Septa Tyene walks out to greet Jaime.

“Twins, Your Majesty,” she says with a smile as she lays first one bundle and then the other in Jaime’s arms. “Boys.” She lays a gentle finger on the one in his right arm. “The eldest, by several minutes. We’ve tied a gold ribbon round his arm to mark him.”

Jaime nods, feeling overwhelmed with the weight of the babies in his arms. He swallows. “Brienne?” he says, his voice husky. He clears his throat and says, “The Queen? How fares the Queen?”

“She has done well, Your Majesty,” says Septa Roelle. “She should pull through, great lumbering woman that she is.”

Jaime slowly tears his gaze away from his sons to look at the old septa. Her eyes are cold and cruel and, he thinks with a chill, disappointed.

“The labor took a long time,” he says, his eyes on Septa Roelle’s face.

“Twins, Your Majesty,” Tyene says with a warm smile and she, at least, seems pleased with the children and Brienne and him. “Twins often take longer, plus the first birthing tends to be the longest as well. The next child should go more quickly. The Queen is young and strong and healthy, although naturally exhausted at the moment. The novices are cleaning her and the bed now.”

“We shall take them to the wet nurse,” Roelle says briskly, reaching for the baby in his right arm.

“Has the Queen fed the babes already?” he asks, making no move to allow his children to be taken from him.

Roelle grimaces. “Her teats are not large enough to feed one babe let alone two!”

“Has she been allowed to try?” he asks drily. He looks at Tyene as he stands and says, “Open the door so I can take our sons to be fed by their mother.”

“Your Majesty—” Septa Roelle sputters as Tyene hastens to do as he asked.

He turns to her and raises an eyebrow.

“She’s still being cleaned,” the old septa says weakly, wilting beneath his glare.

His smile is thin. “I have been on the battlefield, septa, and I have seen Brienne before, bruised and battered. Blood does not frighten me.”

*/*/*/*/*

It’s not the same, of course. Blood on the battlefield is to be expected and endured, and the men injured or dying or dead were not Brienne. She looks exhausted and Jaime knows she must be since she is allowing the novices to cater to her without protest.

She lifts those startling blue eyes, even larger and more beautiful in her pale and tired face, to look at him as he steps into the room.

As two novices finish removing the birthing mats and stained sheets from the bed, he watches as two others finish washing Brienne then help her to her feet so they can lower a nursing tunic over her head. Jaime notices the stretch marks on her belly—wounds from another kind of battle, he thinks, a battle neither of them can influence with words or actions.

The novices finish making the bed and help her back on to the mattress. They then leave them while shooting curious looks over their shoulders.

Jaime walks to the bed and gives her one child then carefully joins her on the bed. He smiles as he sees the babe in her arms nuzzle against her breast, already seeking.

Brienne looks uncertainly at him and he gives her a nod.

She swallows, and he sees tears in her eyes even as she bares her breast and, after a fumbling moment, the baby begins to feed.

“What if...what if I’m not enough?” she whispers and she sounds so tired and sad that for a moment, Jaime sees Lannister red behind his eyes as he wonders what that old bitch of a septa has been whispering in Brienne’s ears even as she struggled to bring their children into the light.

“You’ll be enough,” Jaime tells her. “You’ll be more than enough.”

“But there’s a wet nurse?”

“Of course,” he says, and gives her a wicked smile. “In case you need rest, and, of course, for those nights when I don’t want to share your breasts with anyone, not even my sons.”

She blushes and looks down at the nuzzling babe. He already seems to be nuzzling for comfort rather than from hunger and his eyes, as blue as his mother’s, slowly close in sleep.

Jaime and Brienne carefully exchange children so she can feed their second son, then Jaime positions himself so they can put their heads together as they admire their babes.

Brienne smiles down at their children and says, “You have your sons, Jaime. The legitimate heirs the realm needs.”

“Aye,” he says absently, smiling at their sleeping faces.

“Two sons and done,” she whispers.

He gives her a surprised look. “If you wish it,” he says. “We can certainly keep you supplied with moon tea if you prefer, although I hope you will someday give me a little girl who looks like you.”

She swallows and a tear slip down her cheek.

“You’re tired,” he says, alarmed, “and I have been thoughtless” He sits up and starts to scramble from the bed, trying not to wake the sleeping children. “I’ll send for the septas—well, Tyene, at least—to care for the babes while you sleep. The wet nurse will be nearby if you are too exhausted to feed them.”

She blinks startled and confused eyes at him.

“You’re leaving?” she asks plaintively, and he can see she cringes at the tone of her voice.

He hesitates then smiles. “No,” he says softly, “I’m not leaving.”

It takes a little maneuvering but they at last position themselves so Jaime has Brienne resting against his chest with the babes sleeping peacefully on her chest, one against each breast. Jaime’s arms are around all the three of them.

Brienne’s almost instantly asleep, her head lolling heavily against him. He presses his lips against her brow then closes his eyes and allows himself to simply _be_.

*/*/*/*/*


	32. Addendum 2:  Singer/Farmer aka Best Friends

The distant roar of a motor reaches Brienne’s ears and she slowly straightens from where she’s working in the garden. She looks down the dirt road, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, beating down on her head. It’s been as dry as the local septon’s sermons and she hopes she’ll be able to tease enough from the garden to keep them fed over winter. She can hear the crops withering if she stops and listens hard enough.

The vehicle looks like a car, glinting gold beneath the dust pluming behind it.

“Idiot,” she mutters, and turns back to her garden. Hopefully the idiot won’t spin out of control until long after they’ve gone past her farm. She had to let the phone go last month and their nearest neighbour is over two miles away.

Then the car—sleek and new—turns into her yard, gravel spitting out behind it, and she abruptly straightens again, staring.

There is only person she knows who takes corners with that degree of recklessness. But he’s been a long time gone, she sternly reminds her suddenly leaping heart.

She hurries towards the house where the car has skidded to a halt.

She sees her little sisters scamper outside and the car door opens. Out steps a man who even from this distance is still handsome enough to take her breath away. The hot sun glints off his golden hair and she stops in her tracks. She stares, her heart racing, and she doesn’t know if she should laugh or cry or grab her shotgun and run him off her property.

He greets her sisters with a lazy smile then turns to look at her, and even after all this time, those green eyes still make her knees weak and sends flames shooting through her. She grinds her teeth and forces herself to start walking again.

His smirk is amused, his eyes alight with familiar teasing.

“Aren’t you pleased to see me, Stretch?” he says.

“Not when you still call me Stretch,” she growls. “What are you doing here, Jaime?”

“Is that any way to greet your best friend when this is the first time you’ve seen him in five years?”

“Oh? Were you gone?” she asks with withering sarcasm.

His smirk turns to a grimace and his eyes are pleading now. “Come on, Brienne—don’t be like that.”

And just like that—just like always—her anger dissipates like early morning dew and all that’s left is happiness and relief at seeing him again. “You look good, Jaime,” she says softly.

“You look sweaty,” Jaime says but her irritation is fleeting because he pulls her into a tight hug and for a moment—just a moment—she allows herself to revel in the too-long-absent familiar feel of his arms round her.

*/*/*/*/*

Alysanne and Arianne are as fascinated with Jaime as Brienne had always been. Oh, she had grown up with him so she learned to ignore his handsome face—most of the time. Every now and then, though, he could still take her breath away. Of course, when they still had the television, it happened whenever she stumbled across him on some talk show or another, promoting his latest album.

She studiously avoids his music, although that’s virtually impossible since his big cross-over hit is literally on every radio station at least four times an hour. She wants to buy his album—he’s her best friend, after all—but its money better spent on food or squirrelled away to buy the girls new clothes for the upcoming school year.

Brienne’s glad Jaime’s made it in the world of Southron music. He’s a big star. At least for now, she tells herself darkly, and then feels guilty that she’s always half-hoped he’d fail and return home to settle for her homely self.

Not that he had ever noticed her homely self—at least not like that. And she hadn’t even realized what she felt for him until he left. No, at the time, she’d been mooning after Renly Baratheon, certain he was the only one for her. Then Jaime had left without even saying good-bye, and her heart had shattered. Then he hadn’t once tried to contact her over the last five years and his absence became an ache she could never soothe.

Not that she’s had much time to dwell on it. After her mother had died having Arianne, her father had descended into alcoholism, leaving Brienne to take care of both him and the girls. Jaime knew all that, of course; Arianne had been seven when he left, after all. What he didn’t know was that not even six months after Jaime took off for Music Row in King’s Landing, Selwyn Tarth went on a bender and rolled the tractor down the one hill on their sorry farm.

He was already dead by the time Brienne found him.

All of her energy since then has been focused on keeping her sisters with her while keeping a roof over their heads and food on their table.

She tells Jaime about it in a few words while they’re sitting on the front porch swing, glasses filled with iced tea weeping on the side tables beside them. The sun is setting but it’s still brutally hot. She’s sent the girls out to the garden to pick some vegetables for supper.

“It’s a little early for most everything,” she says to Jaime.

“I know,” he says. “Why didn’t you tell me about your father?”

“Why didn’t you tell me where you were?”

He frowns. “I told Cersei to give you my address!”

Brienne snorts and rolls her eyes. “Well, you should have known better than that,” she says, her voice as dry as the land that surrounds them. There is no love lost between Brienne and Jaime’s sister.

Jaime sighs. “Yeah, I suppose I should have.”

They gently rock in silence then Brienne says, “Why are you here?”

“Cersei’s getting married,” Jaime says softly.

“I know,” Brienne says kindly. “Are you okay with that?”

Jaime’s laugh is harsh. “No, but there’s also nothing I can do about it.”

“I always thought Cersei would join you in King’s Landing, especially—” she stops abruptly.

“After I made it big?” Jaime says drily. “She did, for a while. I even got her a few gigs, but it turns out that being a successful recording artist actually takes work. Not work like this—” he gestures at the dying crops and the struggling garden “—but still more work than Cersei was willing to put in.” He sighs and deflates. “I always thought she’d leave this place before I did.”

Brienne could have told him differently; had, too, before he’d left town and left her, Brienne, behind with it. Cersei likes being a big fish in a small pond; likes being queen bee. She wouldn’t have that in a place like King’s Landing.

Jaime shakes his head. “Anyway, Cersei needs to make her own way, and I need to make mine. A singer is only as good as his last hit, and I have to get a new album out soon or lose my momentum.”

“Oh,” Brienne says, startled. “I still hear your song everywhere.”

Jaime shrugs. “For now. But I have no intention of being a one-hit wonder. I’m working with my producers now, listening to demos, trying to decide what’s going to be the next big hit for me.” He takes a sip of his iced tea. “We’ll see.”

“Do you like it?” Brienne asks carefully.

“I love it,” he says promptly. “I’m good at it, which shocked the hell out of my dad, of course. He cut me off, did you know?”

Brienne shakes her head. Tywin Lannister is not a man who deigns to speak to someone like her.

“I made it on my own anyway,” Jaime says smugly then shrugs. “At least for now.”

The porch swing gently sways, the silence broken only by the creak of its chains and the girls’ childish voices as they call to each other in the garden.

“You look good, Brienne,” Jaime says softly.

She snorts.

“I’ve missed you,” he insists. “It’s good to see you again.”

She picks up her glass with a trembling hand and takes a sip, hoping to hide her reaction to his words. She puts the glass back down. “I’ve missed you, too,” she says, her voice husky. She clears her throat. “It’s good to see you,” she says briskly, “and I’m glad you’re back, even if it’s only for a few days.”

*/*/*/*/*

They sit on the swing in companionable silence, and to Brienne, for these peaceful moments, it feels like time has been turned back and suspended. It feels as if Jaime never left and mayhaps, if she looks long enough towards the horizon, she’ll see her father coming home for supper.

She blinks the wistful thought away as the girls run on to the porch, carrying their garden treasures for their inspection. There are some tiny new potatoes and onions and radishes, and enough lettuce to fill even Jaime’s endless stomach even if Brienne can find nothing else to serve him.

Jaime grins at the girls. “You did good, ladies,” he says and Alysanne blushes. Brienne bites back a smile and a sigh. Alysanne is fourteen, as pretty as their mother but as shy as Brienne, and Brienne hopes with all her heart she’ll be able to guide her sisters through the perils of boys and love, and that they’ll be much luckier than she has been.

The girls take the vegetables into the kitchen and Brienne idly thinks she needs to go and see what kind of a meal she can create that won’t raise Jaime’s suspicions. There’s still some meat in the freezer from when they butchered last fall; that, along with the vegetables—

“Come to the wedding with me,” Jaime says abruptly, startling her.

She gapes then laughs. “You’re mad. If you want to make some kind of statement to your father about how well you’re doing, you should take some gorgeous starlet to the wedding. You must have met some in your travels the last few years.”

Jaime groans. “I could, but then it would have to be a photo-op—that’s how those ‘dates’ work, you know.”

“Well, you know I avoid cameras,” Brienne says drily.

“I remember. Come on. I won’t pretend it’ll be fun but we can get drunk together and maybe even dance a bit.”

Brienne flushes. The last time she’d been to a dance, she’d been the belle of the ball until she discovered all the men begging for a dance and plying her with drinks had all laid down money to see who would be the one to convince her to go out to their car and let them have their way with her. She’s barely been into town since, and she’s definitely never gone to another dance.

“I—I don’t want to dance,” she mutters.

“Ah, so you’ll come with me?” Jaime’s grin is far too self-assured.

“No—”

“Come on! You can’t want me to suffer by myself!”

“I have nothing to wear!” And that, at least, is the unvarnished truth. She hasn’t been able to buy new clothes since her father died and while she’s reasonably skilled with a needle, all of her efforts have gone to keep her sisters in pretty dresses and to keep her own trousers and shirts mended.

“Look,” Jaime says, “because I’m asking you to do this as a favour to me, I would be honoured if you’d let me buy you a dress.” He lifts a hand as she opens her mouth in outraged protest. “You can give it away to charity the day after the wedding, or make it into cushion covers or curtains or something. I don’t care. I’m not offering out of charity; it’s purely selfish. I don’t want to watch Cersei marry that buffoon without a friend by my side and...” He sighs. “Let’s face it: a random gorgeous starlet just wouldn’t understand.”

And she would, Brienne thinks, resigned. After all, she grew up with Jaime and Cersei, the Golden Lannister Twins, and she knows all of Jaime’s secrets. She knows his relationship with his sister is close yet strained and extremely competitive. Twins, yes, and they love each other, but Jaime is so unlike Cersei, Brienne can’t understand how they shared a womb. Then there’s their father...

Brienne hides a sigh.

She’s going to lose this argument with Jaime, just like she’s lost every argument she’s ever had with the blasted man since the moment Jaime had taken one look at her their first day of school and promptly declared her his best friend. Best friends, and it had been glorious and annoying, and she was twenty before he actually—just once—realized she was a girl. Unfortunately, it was also the day he discovered she was pining for Renly Baratheon and he’d burst her daydreams by hooting over her complete blindness when it came to Renly’s sexuality. They had exchanged angry words, and she’d stomped away, tears in her eyes, but it was really no worse than some of the other arguments they’d had over the years...only this time, a week later, he had left without speaking to her again.

And six months after that, she’d lost her father, and any half-baked ideas she might have had of following Jaime to King’s Landing and demanding an explanation were lost with him.

She blinks the memories away and looks at Jaime. “We’ll be lucky to find a dress that fits,” she says. “The wedding’s this weekend, isn’t it?”

Jaime smirks as he sips his iced tea, his green eyes sparkling. “Don’t ask too many questions, Stretch, and leave it all to me.”

For a moment she glares, irritated at his devil-may-care attitude and feeling like there’s suddenly a chasm the width of the Narrow Sea between them. No matter if it feels like she only saw him yesterday, he did leave without saying good-bye and it’s been five years, and he’s now a rising star while she’s trying to hold things together with the tips of her fingernails, and she spends too many sleepless nights worrying the girls will be taken away from her if things get much worse.

She shakes her thoughts away. Jaime’s watching her with a bright-eyed, expectant expression, and she thinks that whatever he buys, wherever he buys it, she’ll be able to re-use it somehow for the girls.

She sighs and nods and scowls at his triumphant grin.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime arrives the next day with a dress box, and two shoe boxes.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he says, gently shooing Alysanne and Arianne away. “It’s meant to be a surprise for you, too.” He hands the dress box to Brienne. “Go try it on,” he says.

Brienne gives him a tired sigh and tries to ignore the girls’ excited eyes. “I’m hot and sweaty, Jaime—”

“Take a shower, then, and try it on. The wedding’s tomorrow, Stretch, and I need to make sure I got the measurements right.”

She rolls her eyes as she grabs the box and stomps away.

*/*/*/*/*

The dress is blue and, she reluctantly admits, it brings out her eyes. It’s cut in such a way as to give the illusion she has a waist and actual, plump breasts, and the skirt drapes to just above her knees.

She will never admit it to him...but she loves it.

*/*/*/*/*

The girls’ eyes widen and their jaws drop, while Jaime’s eyes gleam as he lets out a low wolf-whistle.

“Shut up,” she mutters, blushing furiously.

“I always thought you’d clean up nice,” Jaime says, chuckling. “Now, the shoes.”

“Shoes?”

“Well, you can’t wear your work-boots with that dress,” Jaime says, and hands her the two shoe boxes.

Her sisters crowd round as she opens each box and they ooh and aah as the treasures within are revealed. A pair of dainty flats, and a pair of sexy high-heeled pumps, both in a blue that matches the dress.

“I wasn’t sure if you know how to wear heels,” Jaime says, “and I don’t want you wobbling round like a new-born foal.”

Brienne glares, glances at her sisters, and slips the pumps on her feet. She flicks her still damp hair over her shoulder, pushes her too-thick lips into a model’s pout, and—to her sisters’ glee—struts round the living room with an exaggerated roll to her hips. She spins round to face him, skirt flaring, and gives him a challenging glare.

Jaime puts up his hands in surrender, his eyes sparkling as he laughs. “Okay, okay—have mercy, Stretch!” He grins as his gaze roams over her. “Damn, I have good taste,” he says smugly as he saunters to her. He gently grasps her shoulders and spins her towards her bedroom door. “Now, go take everything off before you give me a heart attack.”

She takes a step, then pauses, frowning down at him over her shoulder. “A heart attack?”

“You’re a dirt magnet, Stretch—always have been—and you don’t want to know how much I paid for that dress,” he says and shoos her away.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime’s half-drunk before the reception even starts and Brienne sighs, knowing she’s going to have her hands full in managing her drunken best friend. He’s tied up with wedding party duties but, he told her last night, at least he’s only a groomsman and not the best man.

One of seven groomsmen, Brienne marvels as she watches the wedding party enter the ballroom.  _Seven_. And, Cersei being Cersei, and Rhaegar being Rhaegar, and the fact they were both acting like this is a coronation rather than a wedding, the groomsmen are jokingly referred to as the Kingsguard in the never-ending speeches because of their snowy white jackets.

Brienne daintily sips her drink and during the meal—and between Jaime’s frequent visits to mutter some new, sarcastically cynical observation in her ear—she makes conversation with her tablemates, all of whom she knows. While she hadn’t been officially invited to the wedding, most of the town had been and there are very few people Brienne doesn’t recognize. Unfortunately, the crowd includes Hyle Hunt and his merry band of assholes—those who had participated in that despicable bet the last time Brienne had ventured out to a social occasion like this. She studiously ignores their stares, whispers and raucous laughter she knows is directed towards her.

Well, she can avoid them, at least, because almost the entire town has turned out for the wedding and there are more than enough people here who sincerely want to talk to her. Tywin Lannister owns the town’s largest bank, after all, and does business with virtually everyone—and this is probably the most lavish wedding the town has ever seen. Or will ever see again.

Brienne knows she wasn’t officially invited only because Cersei has always disliked the fact Jaime had treated Brienne like his favorite sister virtually all his life—and Cersei has never been someone who likes being second in  _anyone’s_  affections, for  _any_  reason. Brienne has no doubt Jaime would have had to eventually leave town if only to finally find a girl Cersei wouldn’t be able to run off in less than an hour after meeting her.

Brienne suddenly remembers that girl in high school—Mel? Melisandre? No, Melara, that was it—and the way Cersei had treated her. Melara had moved away the following summer and Brienne had always secretly believed Cersei had been part of the reason for the family’s departure.

Brienne shakes her head and refocuses on the happy couple. She pays special attention to Rhaegar Targaryen. She’s only seen him a couple of times. He’d arrived in town not long after Cersei had returned from her brief time in King’s Landing. It was only to be expected that they would gravitate to each other—especially in a town like theirs: small and close-knit, where everyone knows everyone, and nothing very exciting ever happens.

Rhaegar is handsome enough, Brienne supposes: silver hair and purple eyes, delicate bones and sensitive features. He’s slender and tall, although not as tall as Brienne, and her shoulders are probably twice as broad. Judging from Jaime’s whispered commentary, he’s also already Cersei’s slave, catering to her every whim—as if she would settle for anything less.

She tries to keep her eyes from straying to Jaime, but she can’t help it. His hair is burnished gold, almost as bright as the bride’s, and his shoulders seem impossibly broad in his white jacket. The look suits him and she wishes she were small and dainty and given to heaving breathy sighs, because that’s exactly how she feels inside.

The bridesmaids are, of course, all beautiful, although not as beautiful as Cersei. Of course, it is the bride’s day, Brienne thinks, and she is the one who should shine the brightest.

Her gaze drifts back to Jaime. He notices her stare and lifts his wine glass in salute and winks. She frowns as she feels a stab of arousal quiver down her spine. Jaime raises an eyebrow in question and she shakes her head and returns her attention to her table-mates.

She suddenly realizes this may have been the worst decision of her life.

*/*/*/*/*

She’s dead.

She must be dead, she decides, because this can only be some sweet, seductive hell that she’s fallen into as punishment for… _something_. Something done in a previous life, because she sure as all seven hells has not done anything to deserve this torture in this one.

She’s danced with Jaime a time or two before, of course. He always made sure he danced with her at school dances even when he brought a date. But tonight…

His hand shifts on the small of her back and her knees go weak.

Literally.

_Weak._

Why? she wonders almost desperately. After five years gone,  _why_ does she still feel this way?

Maybe it’s because he  _had_  been gone so long, and she’d never fully understood exactly what effect he had on her while he was there. Maybe it’s because he grew up while he was away, just like she has. Maybe it’s because he’s shed his jacket and tie, and his shirt is open to reveal the strong lines of his neck and all she wants to do is lean in and nib—

Jaime suddenly spins them round until she’s dizzy and laughing at him to stop.

“You’re lucky I took those damn shoes off,” she tells him when he finally stops.

“You’re the one who insisted on wearing them in the first place.”

“You’re the one who told me I couldn’t!”

Jaime laughs and tugs her a little closer. “I’ve really missed you, Stretch,” he says.

She blushes and hopes her cheeks are still so red from the spinning that he won’t notice.

“I’m beginning to wonder if I missed you,” she mutters. He just laughs and spins her again.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne pads back to the living room with a beer in each hand. She hasn’t had beer in the fridge since her father died, she thinks as she settles beside Jaime, sprawled boneless on the couch, and reminds herself to keep Jaime out of the kitchen. If he sees how bare her fridge and cupboards truly are...

She gives him a quick smile as they clink their bottles together and take a drink.

“Well,” he says with a sigh, “I’m glad that’s over.”

“All that’s left is the crying, huh?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Your support and sympathy is overwhelming, Stretch.”

She snorts. “I put on a dress and went to the wedding of a woman I dislike simply because you begged me,” she says drily. “I think I’ve already passed the Best Friend Support and Sympathy Test.”

He gives her a slow, lazy smile that stops her in her tracks. She blinks rapidly and looks away.

“I had to practically force you on to the dance floor,” he says. “You used to love to dance. What happened after I left?”

Brienne shoots him a startled glance wondering if somebody had told him what had happened. But there’s no knowing look in his eyes. She turns her attention to the beer bottle in her hand and shrugs. “My father died,” she says, “and when I ventured back into the world, well...there was...an incident.” She frowns as she picks at the bottle’s label. “It was a long time ago, Jaime. Not worth discussing.”

He’s silent for so long that she risks another glance at him. There’s a simmering rage in his green eyes and she blinks a little at it.

“It was fucking Hunt and his cronies, wasn’t it?” Jaime growls. “I saw them watching you and laughing.”

“Watch your language; I don’t want the girls to hear! And it doesn’t matter who it was.”

“Of course it matters if it keeps you from doing something you used to enjoy!”

“It’s also none of your business, Jaime! You left, remember?”

“I left this place,” he snaps. “I left my father’s suffocating presence, and Cersei’s petty jealousy. I never meant to leave  _you_!”

She surges to her feet. “And yet that’s exactly what you did.” She clunks her beer bottle on to the coffee table. “It’s late and I have to be up in a few hours to do chores. You should go home now.”

Jaime’s smile is bitter. “ _Home?_  My home is leagues away from this place.” His eyes gleam. “Besides, I’m too drunk to drive.”

She rolls her eyes; he stopped drinking hours ago and hasn’t taken more than two sips of his beer.

“Fine,” she growls.

She stomps to the closet, drags out a blanket and tosses it on the couch.

“Maybe I should wake you when it’s time to do chores,” she snaps. “Remind you of what’s real and what isn’t.”

*/*/*/*/*

In deference to the fact there are young girls in the house, Jaime only removes his belt and socks and sleeps in his clothes.

Or tries to.

His mind is whirling too much and even after he finishes his beer and then Brienne’s, he still can’t relax enough to sleep. He’s too confused by the homely, lumbering blonde—who had looked amazing in that blue dress and those heels—sleeping in the bedroom down the hall.

She used to tell him everything, and the fact she doesn’t trust him anymore with everything bothers him—especially after he gave her the space she wanted when he left.

He sighs and rolls off the couch.

Maybe another beer will do the trick.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime opens the fridge and blinks at the sparsely filled shelves. The beer he brought looks strange in all that empty space. He frowns as he closes the fridge. He glances over his shoulder to make sure he hasn’t woken anyone then begins to open freezer doors and, finally, the cupboards.

They have the basics, he finds, but there are no luxuries, and even the basics are bare-boned. There’s at least meat in the freezer and vegetables in the garden, and Jaime wonders just how close they are to losing it all.

He carefully closes the last cupboard and quietly walks back to his bed on the couch. He doesn’t know if he’s angry with Brienne for not telling him how badly off they are, or if he’s angry with himself for not asking, and even more angry for not being here for her, whether she wanted him to be or not.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime easily convinces the girls to be his willing accomplices. They’re young and he doesn’t think they have much opportunity to break their sister’s rules. Once he has them on board with the plan, he gleefully needles Brienne until she practically orders him to take the girls into town. Alysanne and Arianne are in the car laughing with him as he spins out of the farmyard.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime knows Brienne won’t thank him for buying groceries, but he hopes that if he keeps Alysanne and Arianne between them, she won’t actually get close enough to break any of his limbs.

From the look on her face and the glare she gives him, he might have misjudged the depth of her anger.

“What is all this?” she asks flatly as the girls put the last of the bags on the table and begin to unload the groceries.

“What does it look like?” he asks blithely, giving her a bland smile. “I’ve been here more than I’ve been at my parents’, and if I’m going to be eating you out of house and home, I want to make sure the food you give me is up to my exacting standards.”

“Your exact—you used to eat mud pies, Jaime!”

“Only when you made them, m’lady,” he says as he scoops up her hand and playfully kisses the back of it. “Usually because I was too afraid of you to say no.”

She flushes a dark red as she yanks her hand from his grasp. “You’re still an idiot,” she mutters.

He sobers. “Mayhaps.” He considers her thoughtfully, then says, “Can we leave the girls to put the groceries away while we go for a walk?”

Her flush deepens but before she can speak, Alysanne and Arianne loudly urge them to go and leave them to take care of things. Jaime knows it’s because they want to sneak a couple of chocolate bars before supper but he’s willing to take their help. He did bribe them with the chocolate, after all.

Brienne grumbles as she grabs her sweater, shoves her feet into her worn sneakers and stomps out ahead of him.

He easily keeps up with her until they arrive at the edge of the creek in the pasture and Jaime hides a smile that she automatically led him to their old spot. Brienne stops and wraps her arms round her stomach, then turns to glare at him.

“You went through the kitchen last night, didn’t you?” Her betrayed tone is almost amusing.

“Yeah,” he says. “How has it gotten so bad for you, Brienne?”

She scowls and for a moment Jaime seriously thinks she’s going to shove him into the muddy creek bed. Then she turns abruptly away, her shoulders hunching as she wraps her arms more tightly round herself.

“My father stopped paying attention to the farm for the last few years of his life,” she mutters.

“I remember,” Jaime murmurs. Selwyn Tarth was a good father, a good man, but he spiralled into despair and growing alcoholism after his wife died having Arianne. But Jaime hadn’t expected the man would sink so low as to leave his daughters in such dire straits.

“I did what I could while he was alive,” she says, and Jaime nods. He knows how hard she worked. “Things were...tolerable. He even seemed to be getting his drinking under control.” She heaves a sigh. “A few months after you left, he mortgaged the place to the hilt, disappeared on a massive bender, and when he came back, he promptly rolled the tractor down the hill.” She glances over her shoulder at him then again turns away. “No life insurance.”

“Why did he mortgage the place?”

Brienne gives a small shrug. “To pay for the bender, as far as I can tell,” she says bitterly. “I’ve never seen the money but I certainly owe the payments.”

There’s a cold, sinking feeling in his stomach. “Who holds the mortgage?”

She gives him a pitying look over her shoulder. “Who do you think?”

Jaime closes his eyes and grimaces. His father. Of course.

Then he frowns. He opens his eyes and stares at the back of Brienne’s head.

“Why would my father agree to loan your father money?” he asks. “My dad knew what your father was like. He didn’t get rich by throwing money away.” His frown deepens. “And how much money are we talking about?”

Brienne turns round and glares but she says nothing in defense of her father. She knows what Jaime has said is true.

“Three hundred thousand dragons,” she mutters and Jaime’s jaw drops.

“And you have no idea where the money went?” he says incredulously.

“ _No!_  There was nothing in my father’s accounts, and according to the records at the bank, he never paid anything against the mortgage...although he did die almost immediately after getting the loan.”

“There’s no way he went through three hundred grand on a bender, Brienne!”

Brienne rubs her forehead and sighs. “You wouldn’t think so...but I can’t find where the money  _went_ , Jaime! Gods, if there were any left...you have no idea...” She abruptly turns her back and Jaime realizes she’s fighting tears.

“Brienne,” he says softly, and tentatively touches her shoulder. She shrugs his hand away and he hesitates for a moment before he steps closer and puts his arms round her. She tenses but she doesn’t try to escape, so he takes that as a good sign. He gently turns her round and pulls her into a hug. She stands stiff and unyielding in his arms.

“I’m sorry, Brienne,” he whispers against her ear. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you.”

His words seem to break something inside her because her shoulders begin to shake and then she’s clutching at him, her face buried in his neck as she sobs.

He holds her and lets her weep, and thinks there’s something very strange about her story but he’s damned if he can think of what it is.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime’s still pondering Brienne’s story the next day as he finishes his workout at the town’s only gym.

He’s using his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face as he walks into the change room.

“Lannister!”

He turns and frowns when he sees Red Ronnet Connington approaching with an even smarmier grin than usual on his face. Jaime glances round and hides a grimace when he realizes they’re alone in the change room.

“Great to see you again, man,” Ronnet says as Jaime shakes his proffered hand.

Jaime raises an eyebrow at that. He and Ronnet had never been particularly friendly before he left, and barely exchanged two words at the wedding. Then again, Jaime  _is_  famous at the moment, and that makes everybody he’s ever known want to be his best friend.

“Your sister threw a great party on Saturday,” Ronnet says, “although what possessed her to put the groomsmen in white—if you had your hair any longer, you could have been mistaken for the bride!” Ronnet laughs uproariously at his own joke while Jaime pretends to smile through gritted teeth.

“I saw you dancing with our local giant,” Ronnet say. He leans closer and lowers his voice, “I think there’s still a pot of dragons up for grabs if you managed to fuck her that night. Although it’s not really fair if you won, since you’ve known each other since you were kids.”

Jaime knows Ronnet is speaking a language he understands, but he can’t seem to make sense out of what the other man is saying.

Ronnet recognizes his confusion and a worried look crawls across his stupid face. “I saw you talking with Hunt at the dance. I thought he gave you the low-down on the bet, especially once you started dancing with that hairy cow—”

Jaime’s fist lands on Connington’s jaw with a satisfying crunch. Connington sprawls on the floor, blood pouring from his split lip. Jaime leans down and hisses, “Her name is  _Brienne_ , you  _dick,_ and if anyone asks, you slipped in the shower.” He straightens and sneers down at the other man. “Just be grateful you only split your lip”

*/*/*/*/*

“Why didn’t you tell me what those assholes did?”

Jaime’s anger is more frightening because his voice is so tightly controlled, almost as tight as his fists, his knuckles turning white.

“Because it was a long time ago,” she snaps, “and none of your business.”

“ _They made a bet!_  They made a bet on who was going to convince you to fuck them!”

“Yes, I know—I was there,” she says drily. “I will never forgive them for that. But it’s over.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You weren’t  _here_ , Jaime! You’d left, remember? You’d fucked off to Music Row in King’s Landing, trying to make a name for yourself in the music business! And you never called, you never wrote! You could have been dead in a ditch somewhere for all I knew!”

“I told Cersei to tell you where I was!”

“Why didn’t  _you_  tell me where you were, Jaime? You just...left.” In a moment all her anger drains out of her. “You just left,” she says again, “and we were supposed to be best friends.”

Jaime frowns. “I thought that was what you wanted!”

“Why would you think that?”

The muscles in his jaw flex, then he says, slowly, “My father told me you were very angry. It’s why you never said good-bye.”

Brienne’s eyes widen. “I wasn’t angry,” she says. “I mean, I was mad at you after our last fight but I was never angry you left. I always knew you weren’t meant for a place like this. I always knew you would leave and make your way somewhere else, and be successful at it, too.” She frowns. “And how was I supposed to say good-bye? You left without telling me anything about it.”

Now it’s Jaime’s turn to widen his eyes. “What the fuck do you mean? I left you message after message after message!”

They stare at each other in silence.

“Our fathers?” Brienne finally whispers.

“Who else could it have been?” he sighs. He runs a hand through his hair. “I knew I should have tracked you down, but Father said you’d been adamant that I was to leave you alone. Your father told me you’d calm down in time.”

“Why would they do this?” Brienne asks, her voice weak.

Jaime sighs. “My father? Well, who knows why my father does anything, really. Your father?” He sighs again. “He knew I was going to ask you to go with me.”

Her jaw drops. “Go with you?”

He nods. “I wanted us to go on this adventure together. You’re not meant for a place like this, either, you know, only you can’t seem to get yourself out.”

She laughs at that. “I’m not destined for anything else, Jaime,” she says and she can’t seem to stop the bitterness from seeping through. “I’m big and ugly, a strong smallfolk woman. My lot in life is to work the land and raise my sisters, and I have no doubt that I’ll end up dying in that field over there, just like my father—if I don’t lose the farm before then.”

He scoffs. “You could go anywhere, Brienne, be anything you wanted to be, if you could just catch a break.”

She rolls her eyes, then softens. “You really wanted me to go with you?”

“We were supposed to conquer the world together, remember? Isn’t that what best friends do?”

“And my father helped sabotage it?”

“It looks like it,” Jaime says and sighs. “Don’t hate him,” he says gently. “You know he was barely making it through each day. He’d lost your mother. He couldn’t stand to lose you, too.”

“I can’t hate him,” she mutters, blinking rapidly against a hot rush of tears, “but it’s not that simple.” And it’s not. Her feelings for her father are complicated, a mixture of pity and love and rage, all clamoring for her attention. He’d fallen apart slowly for years, then died and left her to pick up the pieces. It didn’t matter it wasn’t intentional—she’s spent the last few years working through her rage and disappointment while trying not to taint Alysanne’s and Arianne’s memories.

“It’s not that simple,” she whispers again.

“Then please don’t hate  _me_ ,” Jaime says. “I thought you wanted me to stay away from you.”

“Never,” she says, then realizes what she’s said, and flushes.

“Good,” he says and slowly grins, “because I’m back in your life, Brienne, and this time you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

*/*/*/*/*

On his last day home, Jaime and Brienne stroll to their spot by the creek. Her heart is aching at the fact he’s leaving and she doesn’t know when she’ll see him again.

“At least this time we’ll call and e-mail and text,” he says with a nudge of his shoulder against hers.

“Right,” she says, with a nudge back. “Only I have to do all of that at the library.”

“Right,” he says and sighs. “Still...better than nothing.”

She nods and stares down at the sluggishly moving water.

Still no rain, a distant part of her mind thinks, and she wonders if she’s going to get enough out of the fields to make her mortgage payment. She can’t sell any more cattle if she still wants meat for the winter, and—

“Why don’t you and the girls come for a visit?”

Brienne gives him a startled look. “A visit? To King’s Landing?”

“No, to the Wall. Of course, King’s Landing! It’s where I live, after all!”

“Jaime, you know I can barely afford to get the girls to school. How am I going to get them to King’s Landing?”

“My treat.” He shrugs when he sees the mulish set of her features. “Or my loan.”

“Great. Like I need any more debt.”

“Well, see, that’s the thing: I’ve been thinking—”

“Always dangerous,” she mutters.

“Ha, ha,” he says. “I’m serious. I’ve been thinking, and while I want you and the girls to come for a visit and leave all these worries behind for a week, I also want to give you the chance to do some digging in the city.”

“What kind of digging?”

“Your father took out a three hundred grand dragon mortgage on your farm. Where did that money go?”

She looks skeptical but also reluctantly intrigued. “And you think we might find something out in the city?”

He shrugs. “Well, we sure as shit won’t find anything out here, especially if my father is the one who swindled you out of your future.”

Brienne sighs and shakes her head. “The only one who swindled me was my father, Jaime, not yours.”

“You said yourself he went away for a few weeks.”

“He drank it all,” she says flatly.

“Or he invested it.”

She blinks. “It’s been five years. Somebody would have tried to get in touch with him by now and found me instead.”

Jaime thoughtfully considers her. “What are you more afraid of, Brienne? Finding out for sure that your father drank and partied all that money away—or finding out he didn’t?”

She flushes. “If I don’t know,” she slowly says, “then I’m not lying to the girls when they ask what happened.”

“But you  _could_  know. Don’t you owe it to your sisters to take the shadow of uncertainty away from them? Or do you want them to wonder forever, just like you?”

“I want them to remember our father with respect. They don’t really understand how bad things were, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“By hiding from the truth? That’s not the Brienne I know.”

“The Brienne you knew is five years in the past, Jaime.”

Jaime puts his hands on her shoulders. “I don’t believe that,” he says gently. “You’re still brave and honest and stronger than anyone else I know. Except for this one thing. You have to learn the truth, Brienne, or you’ll never move on from it, and neither will your sisters.” He gives her a little shake. “Let me help you do this. Let me be the best friend I should have been when you needed me.”

“Jaime...”

“Come on,” he wheedles and leans closer. “The girls will have a great time.”

“Not fair!”

“Have I ever played fair with you, Stretch?”

She snorts.

“Come on,” he pleads softly, giving her his best puppy eyes.

She groans and agrees.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne asks her neighbours, the Paynes, to look after the farm while she and her sisters are away, and, against her better judgement, two weeks later, they’re met at King’s Landing International Airport by a non-descript man in a chauffeur’s uniform.  They’re driven to an affluent neighbourhood and the car stops in front of a relatively modest three-storey mansion.  Brienne shepherds her sisters through the front door and they stop in the gleaming foyer, gaping round them as the chauffeur carries in their luggage.

Not even Tywin Lannister’s house is as large, she thinks, and it’s certainly not as bright and shiny new.

She jumps a little as a door at the end of the hall opens and Jaime walks out, followed by a tall, distinguished man, about the same age as her father.  The stranger is handsome, sandy hair graying at the temples, still-trim with broad-shoulders and with an air of calm dignity about him.

“The album’s released in two weeks,” the man is saying, “and the first leg of the concert tour starts the same day.  Fifteen cities in twenty-one days.”

Jaime is nodding but his eyes are on her and her sisters, his face lighting up with a grin.

“I’ll be ready, Arthur,” Jaime says, “but that’s two weeks away.  Today, I have guests.”  He sweeps both Alysanne and Arianne in turn off their feet in a hug, then turns to Brienne, eyes sparkling as he pulls her, too, into a bear hug.  “Mayhaps Brienne will be my good luck charm, and the album will debut at number one.”

Arthur hums a little, his eyes thoughtful as he looks at Brienne and her sisters.  “Mayhaps,” he says.

“Oh, don’t worry so much, Arthur.  This isn’t my first record, you know.”

Arthur shakes his head with a fondly amused smile on his face.  “No, it’s your second, and I only wish I were once again as young and confident as you.”  He turns back to Brienne and her sisters.  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your guests?”

“Arthur, this is Brienne Tarth, and her sisters, Alysanne and Arianne.  Ladies:  Arthur Dayne, my producer and owner of my record label, Dayne Records.”

Arthur’s smile is genuinely pleased as he shakes their hands.  “Ah!  I thought you had a familiar look to you.  Your father and I are old friends, although I haven’t seen him for several years now.”

Brienne opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Arthur looks at his watch and shakes his head.

“I have to go.”  He looks at Jaime.  “I’m glad you’re ready for the release of _Hear Me Roar_ , but I still have some publicity to arrange.  I’ll be calling you.” He strides to the door and opens it, then turns back and gives them all a charming smile.  “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you ladies.  Please give my best to your father.”

There’s an awkward silence after the door closes behind Arthur.

“I’m sorry,” Jaime says.

“Don’t be,” Brienne says briskly with a quick glance at her sisters.  “He obviously didn’t know.”  She makes an obvious show of looking round her.  “Your house is beautiful.”

Jaime grins.  “Thanks.  Come on, I’ll show you round.”

A young woman bustles out of another room with a welcoming smile, and Brienne’s stomach freezes with dismay.

“This is Pia Peckledon,” Jaime says.  “Pia and her husband, Jos, take care of me and this place when I’m not around.”  He turns to Pia with a smile.  “Please ask Jos take the luggage to the guest rooms we set aside for the ladies.  I’m going to show them round the house.”

“Yes, ser,” Pia says.

Brienne is so light-headed with relief, she barely notices when Jaime slings his arm round her waist and turns her towards the back of the house.

“Come on, ladies,” he says, his other arm round her sisters, “we’ll start with the practice room.  It’s where we rehearse and write our music.”

*/*/*/*/*

The house is large and beautiful, and the girls are given bedrooms on the third floor, while Brienne is on the second floor, in a beautifully appointed room with its own private bathroom and a door that leads to Jaime’s bedroom.

“Don’t worry, Stretch, it’s securely locked,” Jaime says with a wink, and holds out the key.

She rolls her eyes.  “Oh, please.”

He raises an eyebrow, a teasing gleam in his eyes.  “So I can keep the key?  Maybe even use it?”

“You’re such an idiot, Jaime,” she mutters and grabs the key from his hand.

Jaime laughs as he strolls to the door.  “Come downstairs to the front room when you’re ready.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne walks into a tastefully furnished room with couches and armchairs and a gleaming chrome bar.

“What would you like to drink?” Jaime asks, getting up from one of the couches and strolling towards the bar.

She hesitates, feeling awkward, which is just... _strange_.  This is Jaime, and she’s never truly felt awkward with him before.

“What do you have?” she asks.

Jaime’s smile is wicked.  “A little of everything, really.  How about some Myrish Delight?”

Her eyes narrow.  “That’s not a drink!”

He laughs.  “It’s a wine.  From Myr, as the name might suggest.”

She flushes.  “Oh,” she mutters.

“To tell the truth, I have no idea if it’s any good, but it’s something different than beer.”

“Oh?  Are you too good for beer in King’s Landing?”

He looks down, his lashes ridiculously long and thick against his cheeks.  “Something new for a new place,” he says lightly, but his voice is tight, and Brienne is immediately consumed with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she says, helpless.  “I didn’t mean anything.”

He looks up at her.  “I know.”

He walks over and hands her a glass of wine.

“Why does this feel so strange?” she asks as she takes the glass.

Jaime’s smile is bittersweet.  “Because when I left, I was just some kid in a beat-up car, and when I came home, I still seemed like that same kid, just in a better car.”

Brienne frowns, glancing round the comfortable room.  “But here you’re still Jaime, just in a nice house,” she says.

Jaime’s smile is slow and sweet.  “Thanks, Stretch.”  He leads her to the couches and they sit down.  He raises his glass in a toast.  “Welcome to my home,” he says.

She raises her own glass with an awkward nod and they sip their wine.

Jaime’s reaction is immediate.  He pulls a face and says, “There’s absolutely _nothing_ delightful about that!”

Brienne, still struggling with the extreme sweetness, nods.

Their gazes meet and suddenly they’re laughing like they’re kids again, sneaking into his father’s wine cellar, and just like that, the awkwardness is gone.

*/*/*/*/*

“Where are the girls?” Jaime asks after he replaces the horribly misnamed Myrish Delight with beer.

“Probably still exploring that games room you have,” she says drily.  “They haven’t seen a computer in over a year.”

Jaime shakes his head.  “And that brings us back to why you’re here.”

“I’m here for a holiday,” Brienne says firmly.  “We’ll never find out what my father did with that money.”

“Three hundred thousand dragons doesn’t just disappear without a trace!”

Brienne leans back and sighs.  “Fine.  Where do we even begin?”

“Well, when in doubt, go to the best,” Jaime says and grins.  “I’ve hired the firm of Baelish and Varys.  They’re the best private investigators in Westeros.  If they can’t find out where your father went and what he did with that money, well, no one can.”

Her eyes widen.  “You hired—?”

Jaime raises a hand to stop her protests.  “Look, you can consider it a loan, or you can just consider it a favour, okay?  But in case you haven’t noticed, I have a best-selling album.  I have a few extra dragons in my own pocket now, so let me do this for you.”

She glares but subsides.  He’s right, she thinks.  They need answers, even if the answers only confirm what she already knows.  And this is Jaime.  He’ll just do it anyway.

“All right,” she mutters, and takes a gulp of her beer.

*/*/*/*/*

The week passes far too quickly.

Jaime takes them to all the sights of the historic city, including a tour of the Red Keep since the Royal Family isn’t in residence.  They spend a day at a beach on the Blackwater Bay, where he teases Brienne about not wearing a bikini until she chases him into the water where they wrestle until she finally manages to dunk him.  He takes them to his record label to tour the recording studio and to preview the cover of his new album.

Brienne looks at the cover.  It’s his face, a close-up, and the photographer has made him look even more impossibly handsome than he is in the flesh, his bright green eyes staring out in an intense stare, drawing the viewer in.  The words ‘Hear Me Roar’ are emblazoned across the top in gold and red letters.

“Arthur thinks this one may sell even better than my first album,” he says, and Brienne can see his nervous anticipation.  “It’s released in ten days, so I guess we’ll see.”

“It’ll do great,” she says.

“Yeah?”

Her smile is sad.  “I told you before:  you were always destined for greater things.”

“Brienne...”

She takes a hasty step away.  “The cover’s eye-catching, too,” she says and turns away.

*/*/*/*/*

He takes them to a rehearsal of his new stage show for his upcoming tour, and Brienne and her sisters have the privilege of watching a live concert put on just for them.

“He’s really good,” Arianne says as they’re waiting for Jaime to finish with his bandmates.

“For an old guy,” Alysanne adds, and Brienne covers her mouth with her hand and turns away to hide her laughter.

*/*/*/*/*

All too soon it’s their last night, and Jaime and Brienne are once again alone in the front room.  The girls are upstairs, supposedly asleep, but Brienne tells him she suspects they’re getting in the last few hours they can on the computer and the various game systems in the games room.

“I should go up and chase them to bed, but I don’t have the heart,” she says.

Jaime hands her a beer and sits on the couch opposite her.

“You go home tomorrow,” he says after a moment of comfortable silence.

“I know,” she says drily.  “I have the plane tickets in my purse.”

He rolls his eyes.  “Where do you get your smart mouth from?”

“Let me tell you about my childhood best friend...”

Jaime grins and the sudden flush in her cheeks makes heat swirl in his stomach and his cock twitch, followed by a sudden stab of desperation.  This visit had been great, but he hadn’t really managed to accomplish as much as he’d hoped.

“We didn’t get much time alone,” he says.

She raises an eyebrow but her gaze skitters away from his.

“We’re alone now,” she mutters, then look sharply at him.  “Have you heard from the private investigators?”

He frowns.  “What?  No.”

“Oh,” she says.  “I thought that’s why you wanted us to have some time alone.”

Jaime shakes his head with a sigh.  “I wanted us to have some time alone so we could get to know each other again.”

Brienne blinks.  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Jaime leans forward.  “You’ve had a very tough five years, Brienne.  I want to know about them.  I want to make up for the fact I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

“Jaime…”

“And I want us to be part of each other’s lives again.”

“I know.  That’s why I’m here.”

“No!  I mean...”  He scrubs one hand down his face.  He doesn’t know how to do this, how to let her know he wants to move beyond best friends.  He’s pretty sure she’d like that, too, but how to cross that line without losing everything they have?  He looks at her beautiful but wary eyes, at those guileless blue depths, and mutters, “Gods, I’m shit at this.”

Well, he tells himself, the gods hate cowards.  He puts his beer down with a thud on the coffee table and gets to his feet.  “Stand up.”

“What?  Why?”

“Just...trust me, okay?  Stand up.”

She puts her beer down and stands up.

“Come here.”

She warily steps closer.  “You better not be planning on tickling me,” she warns him.  “I stopped falling for that trick when we were ten.”

Jaime snorts.  “We were at least fifteen before you figured it out,” he says.  He moves closer and she frowns.

“What are you doing?”

Jaime sighs.  “Just don’t bruise the face,” he says, then he cups her cheeks and presses his mouth against hers.

*/*/*/*/*

She’s dead.

That’s the only reason Jaime’s lips would be pressed against hers like this—warm and soft and gently coaxing—

He ends the kiss, and she opens her eyes to stare at him.  She knows she must look ridiculous with her dumbfounded expression and her mouth sagging open.

He gives her a half-smile, his green eyes dark.  “Can I do that again?”

Dead, she thinks, even as she gives him a slight nod.

This time, there’s nothing gentle about it.  Instead it’s hot and deep and demanding, and she desperately clings to him and kisses him back with all the longing she’s felt for him while he was gone.

_Definitely_ dead.

*/*/*/*/*

She may be dead, but if she is, she’s in one of the seven heavens.

Jaime’s sprawled beneath her on the couch, and his arms are wrapped round her, holding her tight.  She’d stopped the kissing; it was too overwhelming and too confusing, but this...

Well, this is overwhelming and confusing, too, but she hadn’t realized how good it feels to simply be held...even though there are so many things to think on before—

“Stop overthinking things,” Jaime murmurs, his voice rumbling in his chest beneath her as he rubs a hand over her back.

She lifts her head and glares down at his smugly pleased, far-too-handsome face.  “Do you blame me?  This—what is this?”

“This is just two people taking the next step in their relationship.”

“This is so sudden, Jaime!’

Jaime laughs at that before pressing a lingering kiss against her mouth.  “We’ve only been heading here our entire lives, Stretch, but you’re right:  this is so sudden.”

She growls and tickles his ribs and before she knows it, they’re in a tickling-slash-wrestling match that ends with them landing in a laughing heap on the floor, with Jaime now on top of her.

He looks down at her with a grin, green eyes sparking with happiness.  “Don’t worry, Stretch, we’ll figure this out, just like we’ve figured out everything else.”

“Jaime—”

He stops her words with a kiss.  “Don’t worry, I said,” he whispers.  “Now, we should go to bed—our separate beds!—before I forget we need to take it slow.”  He rears up and frowns down at her with a sudden thought.  “Are you still a virgin?” he asks.

Brienne’s face burns with embarrassment.  “Why?”

Jaime’s slow smile is wicked as he slowly rolls his hips against her, and she feels his—

_Gods_ , she’s literally going to burst into flames at any moment.

“Well,” he drawls with another slow, sensuous roll of his hips, “it tells me how to approach our first time.”

She smacks his shoulder then soothes the small hurt.  “That’s assuming an awful lot, don’t you think?”

He laughs down at her.  “You haven’t actually punched me in the face or broken any of my limbs.”  He gives her a quick kiss.  “That alone is giving me a small measure of hope there’s going to be a first time.”

*/*/*/*/*

Her dreams that night are a mishmash of nightmares and erotic images, and she wakes at three in the morning, hot and aching for him.

_He’s just on the other side of the door_ , her yearning body whispers to her, _and you have the key_.

She sits up then pauses.  There’s simply too much:  a failing farm, two children to raise, a burgeoning singing career and the resulting fame that would eat her and her sisters up and spit them out.

She lays back down.

There’s too much.  Whatever this is...it’ll never last.  It’s better not to even start.

She’ll tell him so in the morning.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne’s decision dissolves like dew in sunlight when faced with Jaime’s beaming smile and obvious pleasure at the sight of her.  When they’re leaving, he hugs her sisters good-bye with real regret, then he kisses her—with obvious enthusiasm—while they’re standing on his front steps, in full view of her sisters, Pia and Jos, the man driving the limo, and anyone else who happens to be watching.

When he finally releases her, it takes all her willpower to turn away and get into the car.

The three of them wave frantically as they’re driven away from his house, then Brienne braces herself for her sisters’ questions.

To her surprise, they don’t seem surprised at all, only sad they’re leaving Jaime and Pia and Jos and the computers and games room and all the amenities of King’s Landing behind.

“Aren’t you wondering why Jaime kissed me?” she tentatively asks as they get to the airport.

Alysanne and Arianne exchange a puzzled glance then shake their heads.

“Aren’t you surprised, then?” Brienne pushes.

They shake their heads again.  “I always knew Jaime had the hots for you,” Alysanne says with a worldly air.

“ _Alysanne!_   You’re only fourteen!”

She shrugs then gives Brienne a sweet smile.  “Back home, he was looking at you like you hung the moon, so I’m not sure why you’re surprised.”

Brienne blushes and subsides into awkward silence while her sisters chatter excitedly about everything they’ve seen and done in King’s Landing.

*/*/*/*/*

The realities of the farm are hard to take the next few days, although the heat has finally broken and they even had some rain during the week Brienne and her sisters were gone.

Pod did a good job of looking after the cattle, and Brienne gives him the t-shirt they brought back from King’s Landing, and he accepts it with a blush and a stammered thanks while glancing at Alysanne with something approaching fascination.  He’s around the same age as her sister, and Brienne raises a mental eyebrow as she watches them.  They’re still far too young, she thinks, but maybe in a year or two...

She heaves a sigh and turns her thoughts to what she needs to do to make the next mortgage payment.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne and her sisters go to the library that weekend, and log into their e-mail accounts before the girls scamper off to the stacks and the games room.  As for Brienne, her heart leaps when she finds several e-mails from Jaime waiting for her.

She can’t keep the smile from her lips or the blush from her cheeks as she reads them.

She writes back, her words not nearly as heated as his, and she turns down his offer to get them all cell phones so he can call them.  She wishes him luck with his new tour and the release of _Hear Me Roar_ , both starting the next day, and asks if he’s heard from the firm of Baelish and Varys.

She walks on air with stars in her eyes all the way back to the farm with Jaime’s e-mails printed out and stowed safely in her purse.

*/*/*/*/*

Their lives fall back into the routine of hard work every day, and on the last day of each weekend, Brienne and her sisters walk into town to the library.  There are always multiple e-mails from Jaime waiting for her with at least one that begs her to allow him to get cell phones for her and her sisters.

She always turns him down, and she hopes she’s getting better at telling him how much she misses him.  She prints off his e-mails and shares what she can with her sisters, and keeps the rest close to her heart.

He’s on the first leg of his concert tour and Brienne searches each weekend for news and reviews.  She learns Jaime’s star is rising ever faster and shining ever brighter.  She’s so proud and happy for him while also knowing that the more famous he becomes, the less likely she will have any role in his future.

At her lowest moments, safe in her bedroom, she cries a little at the thought, but one night as she wipes tears from her eyes, she decides she’s going to take a chance the next time they see each other.  She remembers his kisses and the feel of his arms round her and the strength of his muscled chest beneath her palms.  She’s going to take a chance, because she’ll regret it forever if she doesn’t…and because whatever this is with Jaime is doomed to wither and die in the hot light of celebrity.  She can at least walk away with better memories than what she’s managed to gather so far.

Just over two weeks after her return from King’s Landing, Brienne goes to her doctor and has a long, embarrassing conversation about the best forms of birth control for her, and wonders if she’s ever going to have a chance to use it.

*/*/*/*/*

The e-mails that weekend are more of the same:  stories of Jaime’s time on the road, how much he wants to hear her voice, how much he can’t wait to see and kiss her again.

His last e-mail, though, is simply titled “Call me” and his cell number is in the body of the e-mail, along with the times of each day for the next week that he’ll be free.

She leaves her sisters home alone the next day to walk into town to find a phone.

“Brienne,” he breathes and the happiness that warms his voice sends shivers down her spine.

She bites her lip, looking round the far-from-private public phone in the library, and hopes nobody will ask why she’s so red. 

“Jaime,” she says, and it’s almost a groan of longing.

“Gods, I’ve missed you,” he purrs in her ear.

“I—I’ve missed you, too.”

“Good.  I think you should let me get you a cell phone.”  His voice is low and husky, suggestively sliding across her nerve endings.  “We could talk every night.  In private.”

“Jaime—”

“What are you wearing?”

Brienne sputters into laughter.  “Stop it,” she says.  “I’m in the library and your e-mail made it seem urgent that I get in touch with you.  If you tell me it was just so you could tease me in real time—”

His laugh is almost sinful.  “Well, that was definitely part of it, not gonna lie.  But sadly, no.  I got a call from Petyr Baelish.  They’re ready to give us their report.”

It’s like being doused with ice water.  “Report.”

“Right,” Jaime says.  “Can you find somebody to take care of the girls for a few days?  I’m back in King’s Landing at the end of the week, but then I’m gone again three days after that for the next leg of the tour.”

Brienne frowns, thinking of her neighbours.  “I can get Pod to help with the cattle,” she mutters, “and Selyse Baratheon owes me a favour.”

“Gods, don’t inflict Selyse on them!”

Brienne laughs.  “Selyse is fine,” she says, “and the girls are friends with Shireen, so it’s not like they don’t know Selyse.”

“Well, they’re your sisters,” Jaime says, “although you may need to bring back really special souvenirs to make it up to them.  Anyway, I’ll have somebody make the arrangements to get you to King’s Landing.”

“All right,” she says, her stomach tight with fear about what the private investigators might have discovered.

“And Brienne...”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t wait to see you.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne gets more and more nervous the closer and closer she gets to King’s Landing.  By the time the limo pulls up in front of Jaime’s house, her palms are sweating and she doesn’t know if her knees are going to hold her up long enough to get inside.

But she’s faced so much in the last five years, and this is _Jaime_.

She gets out of the car with her overnight bag, and, with a deep breath, walks to the house.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime opens the door and the look on his face as he gently pulls her inside and into his arms makes all her fears disappear like snow in the spring.

*/*/*/*/*

By the time they’re in his bed and he’s moving inside her, her last coherent thought is that she doesn’t know why she was so scared.

She’s finally home.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne’s rests her head on Jaime’s chest and practically purrs as his hand lazily strokes up and down her naked back.  She doesn’t know if she’s ever felt this physically relaxed before in her life.

“We have an appointment with Petyr Baelish tomorrow morning,” Jaime murmurs then yawns.

“Hmm.”

His chuckle rumbles against her ear.  “Are you sleeping?”

“Hmmm...no.”

“Good.”  He stares up at the ceiling, his arm tightening round her.  “Can we talk about us?”

Brienne freezes, then lifts her head to stare at him.

“What’s there to talk about?” she asks.

His smile is tight and seems almost nervous.  “Don’t be coy, Brienne,” he says.

She sighs.  “I don’t know if there is an ‘us’,” she says.  She lowers her head back to his chest and listens to the too-rapid beat of his heart against her ear.  “I can’t ask you to take on a failing farm and raising two young girls.  That will ruin your image in the music business.”  She suddenly huffs a pained chuckle.  “ _I_ will ruin your image in the music business.  I’m not the kind of woman a man like you should have on your arm during a life in the limelight.”

“There are no men like me, Brienne, there’s only me—and I’ll have whatever fucking woman I want on my arm and anyone who doesn’t like it can go fuck themselves.”

She sits up, staring at the anger in his voice.

Jaime glares at her and says, “I find you absolutely, stunningly beautiful—I always have—which is why I was so pissed when I found out you were in love with Renly fucking Baratheon of all fucking people!  I also know that that stupid fuck Connington and his cronies shattered your confidence in yourself while I was gone, and the next time I see them, I’m kicking all their asses into the next century, I swear to the gods!”

She gapes as he smiles, a glittering, knife-like smile.

“Then again,” he says, his voice a dangerous purr, “you haven’t told me the only thing that would send me from this bed.”

She frowns.  “What’s that?”

“You haven’t said you don’t love me.”

A slow blush creeps up her cheeks.  “You haven’t told me you do!” she stammers and feels suddenly ridiculous having this conversation while their naked bodies are pressed together.

“Of course I do, Brienne.”  He runs his hands over her back and sides and pulls her to him for a kiss.  “Of course I do,” he says, more softly, and kisses her again.  “Gods, I do love you,” he groans, “and I don’t know how I’ve managed to stay away from you for so long.”

She arches against him, holding him close, and when he moves his mouth from hers to plant suckling kisses on her neck, she can only moan, “I love you,” with each pull of his mouth.

And then there’s no talking at all.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime opens the door for Brienne as they walk into the offices of Baelish and Varys.  Petyr Baelish shakes their hands and Jaime assesses him and finds the slender, ferret-faced man to be pleasant enough although Jaime’s not certain he trusts him completely.

Still.

Half of the best pair of private investigators in Westeros, and hopefully that reputation isn’t misplaced.

“Congratulations on your new album, Mr. Lannister,” Petyr says, and there’s a certain amount of obsequiousness in his smile that rubs Jaime the wrong way.

“Thank you,” is all he says.  He knows _Hear Me Roar_ debuted at number one on the charts, the reviews have been good, the _Hear Me Roar_ tour has been selling out in every venue, and Arthur’s been cautiously pleased every time they talk.  But he hasn’t learned the details yet.  He’s been too focused on the tour and thoughts of Brienne to ask how many copies have been sold to date.

“Everyone says this is your break-out album,” Petyr continues.  “You may even beat Aerys Targaryen’s record for most albums sold in the shortest amount of time.”

Jaime’s smile is slight.  “I doubt that,” he says, then glances at Brienne before he turns back to Petyr.  “You have news for us?”

“Yes,” Petyr says, immediately all business as he pulls a document in front of him.  “We managed to track Selwyn Tarth’s movements four and a half years ago, during the time he was away from your home town.”

“Where did he go?” Brienne says, almost quivering as she leans forward, her magnificent eyes intent on Petyr Baelish’s face.

“He came here.  To King’s Landing.”

“And did you trace the money?”

“Oh, yes, Ms Tarth.”  He gives her a thin smile.  “It was transferred to Dayne Records.”

*/*/*/*/*

Arthur Dayne greets them at his office door, shaking their hands and showing them to chairs in front of his desk.

“You sounded very mysterious on the phone, Jaime,” he says with a puzzled smile.

“You knew my father,” Brienne says, and Jaime can see how tightly bunched her muscles are in her shoulders.

“Yes, I—”  Arthur blinks, taken aback.  “ _Knew_?”

“My father died in a farming accident four and a half years ago,” Brienne says.

“Gods, I’m sorry.  I hadn’t heard.”

“The man invested three hundred thousand dragons into your record label, and then you never heard from him again.  Didn’t you find that odd?” Brienne says, her voice tight.

Arthur shrugs.  “Not really.  I was sending him quarterly statements and I just assumed he had no questions.  The agreement isn’t up for another six months, after all, so I didn’t really expect him to contact me until then.”  Arthur’s smile is polished and professional.  “That’s why he’s a silent partner.”  His smile fades.  “Was.”

“Where have you been sending the quarterly statements?” Brienne asks suspiciously.

Arthur pulls out his tablet and taps at it then scribbles a note on a piece of paper and hands it to her.  “Here.”

Brienne takes it with a scowl then Jaime says, “Why you?”

Arthur raises an eyebrow.  “I’m sorry?”

“Why did he choose you to invest with?”

“He didn’t choose _me_ , Jaime,” Arthur says with a chuckle.  “He chose you.  He helped finance your music career.”

*/*/*/*/*

The story, once told, is simple enough.

Not quite five years earlier, Selwyn Tarth arrived on his old friend’s doorstep.  Arthur hadn’t seen him in years, but he looked the same, even if there was a sadness that sat heavy on Selwyn’s shoulders. 

He had a proposition for Arthur:  this kid he knew, Jaime Lannister, was somewhere in King’s Landing, trying to make it in the music business.  Selwyn asked Arthur to go find this kid and give him a listen.

So he did.

“You were busking on the corner of Drogon and Balerion, remember?” Dayne says with a half-smile.

Jaime nods.  “And living out of my car,” he says to Brienne.

Arthur says, “Even then, I could see he had something special.”  He leans back in his chair and smiles.  “I gave Jaime my card; told him to come see me in the morning.  Then I went back to Selwyn and told him we had a deal.”

Brienne blinks as she looks from Arthur to Jaime and back again.  “What kind of a deal?  Exactly?”

“Three hundred thousand dragons for fifteen percent of the profits from Jaime’s first recording contract.  That includes profits from record sales, concerts, public appearances, etc., etc., etc.  Basically, any profits from anything he does that’s covered by our contract with him, Selwyn—or you, now, I suppose—get fifteen percent.”

“Wait a minute,” Jaime says, eyes narrowed.  “I only get ten percent!”

“We made an initial total investment of two million dragons over the last four and a half years into your work, Jaime.  Fifteen percent is Selwyn’s portion of that initial two million dragon investment.”  He shrugs and grins.  “Welcome to the music business.”

Brienne frowns.  “So, how much are we talking about?”

“Well,” Dayne says, “it’s a little early to say for certain.  We released two albums under the current contract, and Jaime’s on his second major tour.  We’ve also just received the first sales reports on _Hear Me Roar_ today, and...” He heaves a sigh and gives Jaime a sad look.

Jaime’s eyes widen.  “Oh, gods,” he groans, “it bombed.”

Arthur’s sad look deepens.  “Bombed...you could say that...it’s definitely blown the competition out of the water.  It’s already sold almost two million copies, and it’s only been four weeks.”

Their mouths slowly sag open.

“Millions, Brienne,” Arthur says, eyes sparkling.  “Your portion of the contract is worth millions.”

*/*/*/*/*

The stretch of beach on the Blackwater is deserted, and they sit on the sand, resting their chins on their knees.

“Why would he have done that?” Brienne whispers.

Jaime just shakes his head.  “Maybe he felt guilty about keeping you with him.  Maybe...maybe he hoped that if I made it, then...”  He sighs.

“Then I would have made it, too, even though not in the way you’d hoped.”

Jaime turns and gives her a bittersweet smile.  “He loved you, you know.  All of you.”

Brienne closes her eyes, unable to look at him.  “I know,” she whispers.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime reluctantly kisses her good-bye the next day.

“I wish you could come with me,” he murmurs against her ear.

“I have to get home,” she whispers back.  “The girls need me.”

“I know.”  He kisses her again then says with a smile, “Will you let me give you cell phones now?  You can pay me back in six months.”

“Jaime…”

“Come on,” he teases, “don’t forget:  you’re going to be richer than I am when all is said and done.”

She snorts.  “You’ll make more albums, Jaime, and I won’t have a stake in any of those.”

“No?” He lifts an eyebrow.  “Well, I think you’ll end up with a fifty percent stake in everything I do.  If you want it.”

She blushes and he laughs and kisses her.

“Just don’t get too comfortable without me,” he murmurs against her ear.

“I won’t,” she sighs.  “I love you, Jaime.”

“I love you, too,” he says, “and once the tour is over, we’ll figure everything out.  The girls may want to stay on the farm until they’ve finished school, and I’m okay with that.  It may be a good place for us to use to escape the spotlight.”

Brienne gives him an incredulous smile.  “Truly?”

“Truly.”  He tugs her closer.  “So long as we’re together.  Right?”

She slowly smiles.  “Right.”

*/*/*/*/*


	33. Addendum 3:  Prisoner/Septa

“He hangs in three days,” Judge Tarly says, his lip lifted in the slight sneer that always mars his face when he speaks to her. “If you wish to save his soul, you need to work fast.” His sneer deepens. “As if  _you_  could save anyone’s soul.”

Brienne simply nods. His words have long ceased to have any power to touch her. Three years of ministering to men condemned to death have hardened her heart to many such slights—and to many more things than that, besides. She has no choice but to harden her heart against the very men she works to support. She doesn’t know them long, after all—justice is swift in Westeros, especially when rendered by ‘The Hanging Judge’ Randyll Tarly. He was rumored to have hanged his own son because he thought the boy had abandoned his post in some farflung northern stronghold.

Tarly flicks her away with a wave of his hand. “Go. Do your job—even if it is as useless as you are.”

Brienne simply bows and leaves the Judge’s presence.

She strides to the prison building that holds the condemned and makes her way to the cell of the most recent man to be sentenced to die by the Hanging Judge. She gives the guard an austere nod and pauses outside the cell door to straighten her septa’s robes. As she does so, she asks the Father for strength, the Crone for wisdom, and the Mother to show her how best to provide the comfort this man will need to walk to the gallows with such bravery and dignity as may still live inside him.

This prisoner is not her only charge, here in the most notorious prison in Westeros. The condemned currently number ten, but there are three men scheduled to hang this afternoon. In her three years here, Brienne has never seen less than five men waiting for death at any one time.

But her role, the High Septon told her clearly, is not to question the guilt or the physical fate of these men. Her role is simply to provide them succor and, where possible, to lead them to the Faith of the Seven—or to any god, really—before their death.

She hesitates in front of the cell door. She wants to pray more deeply, but for some reason she can’t think of anything other than the fact she was given this job to punish rather than reward her. She was not even sent here as a test of her faith and devotion. The High Septon is no more a friend to her than the Hanging Judge.

She doesn’t know how much longer she can continue to do this, but to ask to be relieved of this duty will be taken as a sign of weakness. She shudders to think where the High Septon would send her next if she were to be so craven as to run from this prison.

She draws in a deep breath.

It matters not. She made a vow to serve here, and so she shall. This is her life until the High Septon or mayhaps Judge Tarly dismisses her. At least the men awaiting the gallows need her, whether they realize it or not.

She nods again at the guard. He opens the cell door and she steps over the threshold.

*/*/*/*/*

The prisoner is sitting on the floor, his hands shackled to the bed he’s leaning against. His head is lowered and he doesn’t lift it as the door clangs shut behind Brienne.

She stands and considers the unmoving man in silence, waiting for him to acknowledge her.

The prisoner finally, slowly, raises his shaggy head, his hair and beard long, unkempt and filthy, yet Brienne’s breath still catches in her throat when his eyes meet hers.

_By the gods_ , she thinks in shock,  _he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen_.

His eyes are cold, his face stoic as he considers her in the half —light of the cell, and as she looks into his eyes, her breath catches once again. She has seen countless condemned men over her three years at this prison. Men have begged her for their lives. Men have cursed her, spat on her, and wept on her shoulder. She has seen men resigned to their fate, struggling against it, terrified of it. But this man... _this_  man...

They continue staring at each other in silence.

_This_  man is not afraid, she realizes.  _This_  man has not yet given up.

“Have you come to say pretty prayers for my soul, septon?” he finally drawls and Brienne startles a little at his slow, deep, arrogant voice. An educated voice, a distant part of her notes, with a snide tone.

“If you wish,” she says, more calmly than she feels.

A slow grin spreads across his face. “By the gods, you’re a woman!” He chuckles—actually chuckles— and says, “I see now those are septas robes. My pardons. I assumed a men’s prison would have a septon.”

“‘Tis not the first time such a mistake has been made,” Brienne manages to say and tries to shake off her odd reaction to the man in front of her. “You are to be hanged three days from now. I am here to provide what comfort I can to you, Mr. Lannister, and to fulfill whatever last requests it is within my power to grant you.”

His grin widens. “I take that to mean you won’t leave the doors to my cell and this prison unlocked for me?”

She gives a slight tilt of her head. “I’m afraid not,” she says drily. “You have been found guilty by a court of law—”

“By the Hanging Judge, you mean,” he says, his voice cold and angry. “Were you in the courtroom when my so—called trial was held?”

“No,” she says. “I am not allowed in the courtroom. That is the duty of the civil authority, not the spiritual.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that before.” He cocks his head and shifts, his shackles clanking. “You have come here to pray for my blackened soul?”

“I have come to provide what succor I can,” she says calmly. This she understands. Many men are angry— _enraged_ —when she first appears. What comfort can a septa provide when the Stranger is so close they can feel its breath upon their necks?

“But only if you follow the Faith of the Seven,” he says with contempt.

“If you believe in different gods, I can help you with those prayers as well, Mr. Lannister,” Brienne says.

“Under the circumstances, call me Jaime.” He barks a harsh laugh. “We don’t have much time, after all, to be concerned with the formalities.”

She hesitates, her lips pressed tightly together, then says, “If you tell me which religion you follow, I will pray with you, Mr. Lannister.”

His smile is cruel. “I’m not surprised you are a septa here,” he says. “You are as dreary as this prison.”

Brienne flushes a little, surprised at the fact the words strike home. “Do you wish to pray?” she asks. “Or mayhaps talk? Civilly.”

Jaime barks a sharp laugh. “Do you think I shall confess my many sins to you, septa?”

Brienne remains stoic. “You will be hanged by the neck until you are dead, Mr. Lannister. You have three days before that happens. How you make peace with your conscience and whichever god you follow is entirely up to you. I only wish to help you find what peace you may before your date with the gallows.”

“You’re here to help me accept my fate.” His eyes are cold as he rakes them over her. “I doubt you will be successful.”

Brienne’s expression doesn’t change. “I seldom am,” she says gently, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t try.”

He thoughtfully considers her and this time when he finally smiles, it’s more kind. “I suppose not, septa.” He sighs. “I have no wish to pray,” he says, “but I am not adverse to conversation. Stay. Sit with me for a while.”

“As you wish,” Brienne says and settles on the single chair that’s in the cell. “What would you like to talk about?”

He shrugs. “I don’t really care, so long as I am not immediately returned to the silence of this cell.” He cocks his head. “Tell me your name and how you came to be a septa in a prison like this.”

“That is not a very interesting story,” she says.

He shrugs. “It doesn’t have to be interesting,” he says. “It just needs to break the silence.”

She considers him carefully then says, “I would prefer to say a prayer for you.”

He smirks and shrugs, his eyes mocking. “As you wish.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne brushes the tips of her fingers across her scarred cheek as she stands outside Jaime Lannister’s cell door. Odd. The maiming had occurred not even six months into her tenure here; a man condemned for horrific crimes had attacked her as she was escorting him to the gallows. He’d wanted one last victim; one last taste of human flesh.

She shudders a little at the memory, but she had not thought of it for months, now. Had not mourned the loss of her smooth cheek, nor the loss of what few homely looks she had been blessed with. Yet since her largely unsuccessful meeting the previous day with the man languishing in this cell, she’s been seeing herself through his eyes. And cringing.

Foolish.

She’s a septa, sworn to serve, sworn to celibacy. It matters not what a condemned criminal thinks of her.

She brushes her fingers across the scars again and reminds herself that the man behind this cell door may look beautiful, but beneath, he is just as much a monster—and just as much a child of the Seven—as any other convicted man she’s counselled in the last three years. What he thinks—or, more like,  _doesn’t_  think—of her has less than naught to do with what she is honor —bound to provide to him: succor, and one last chance at peace and salvation.

*/*/*/*/*

The septa sits, stiff and precise, on the only chair in the cell. Jaime carefully watches her as he tries to pry words out of her. For someone who is supposed to be trying to save his soul, she is remarkably reluctant to speak once she’s finished saying her prayers.

The silence between them deepens.

“Tell me what you do here, septa,” Jaime finally says.

“I minister to the men condemned to death,” she says.

“A truly noble calling,” he says, sardonic. “Did you volunteer for it?”

The septa hesitates then says, slowly, “The High Septon assigned me here.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow. “Did he now? For what reason?”

“It is not for me to question the High Septon’s decisions.”

“Of course not. Tell me: does he know all that you do here? Do you write reports to him that he reads while he is safely hidden away in the Great Sept in King’s Landing? Can he truly understand what you tell him? Has he ever been in a place like this, septa? Has he ever looked in a condemned man’s eyes and offered to pray for their souls?”

The septa blinks those ridiculously large and beautiful eyes, but they remain serene. “Does it truly matter if he has or not?” she asks. “The gallows is but one way to meet the Stranger; I am sure the High Septon has provided comfort to many who were lost and afraid.”

Jaime’s smile is knife —sharp. “Is that what you think of me? That I’m lost and afraid?”

“You are here, are you not? You have this afternoon, and two full days, and then I will walk by your side as you meet your fate.”

“And will the prayers you’ll intone to save my soul have any true meaning? You will not even tell me your name.”

The septa blinks again, and now she looks uncertain, even confused.

Jaime cocks his head. “How long have you been here?”

“Three years,” she says.

“Has no other condemned man ever asked your name?”

The septa hesitates, blinking owlishly in the dim light of this festering cell. “No,” she finally says softly, “but my name is not important.”

“I disagree. As my time counts down and the Stranger draws near, I find there is nothing more important to me than the name of the only person I am allowed to see.” He jerks his chin towards the door. “The guard out there opens the slot in my door and shoves through a food tray three times a day, yet never speaks a word.” His grin is brief and humorless. “At least the Hanging Judge believes in still feeding the men he condemns. The pail for my shit will soon be overflowing, but I am at least grateful I have enough length on my chains to allow me to pace this cell as far as needed.” He considers her, suddenly thoughtful.

“Do not think to overpower me, Mr. Lannister,” the septa says, still calm but with a warning look on her scarred face. “I am as strong as I look, and even if I weren’t, none in this place would save me.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow. “You are the prison’s septa.”

“And worth less to the Hanging Judge than the justice that must be meted out.”

“You’ve been taken hostage before?”

“Several times.”

“And you’re still here.”

For the first time in their acquaintance, a slight smile curves the septa’s too —large mouth. “I am still here.”

Jaime’s smile is more pronounced and genuine. “And yet none have ever bothered to ask your name.” He shakes his head and sobers, his eyes intent. “I will not harm you, septa; you have my word—such as it is. But I would know the name of the person intent on saving my soul in such a short time.”

She hesitates, then reluctantly says, “Brienne. Brienne of Tarth.” Her voice is as solemn as her face, her beautiful eyes wide and blue and honest.

Jaime slowly smiles. “Septa Brienne.” He bows his head, almost like a knight bowing to a maiden. “Septa Brienne.” He nods. “Thank you.”

She flushes and quickly clears her throat. “Do you wish to pray?” she asks.

Jaime heaves a small sigh. “Since you have been so kind as to give me your name, yes. Please pray for me. Septa Brienne.”

*/*/*/*/*

_A truly good person_ , Jaime thinks as Septa Brienne closes the door of his cell behind her some time later.  _She actually believes the auroch —shit she’s shovelling every time she’s here._

That’s good, he thinks as he leans his head back and shifts, trying to get some relief from the shackles round his wrists and feet. He can work with a truly good person.

He dozes, his mind working, and when he wakes, he has a plan.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne pauses outside the cell door and says a short prayer to the Mother, begging for strength.

Three men yesterday, she thinks, despairing, another three already today. For the first time in her years at the prison, there are only four men awaiting execution. Three of those will be hanged tomorrow, and the day after, it will be the perplexing man who awaits her on the other side of this door, and then there will be no men left in these black cells.

She would be grateful for the respite except she knows it won’t last long. She’s been told Judge Randyll Tarly has suspended court on orders from the King; she’s mildly surprised the Hanging Judge has bothered to obey for even a day.

But that is not her concern. Her concern now is the man on the other side of the door and what comfort she can provide in his last two days of life.

*/*/*/*/*

“Do you believe in  _any_  god, Mr. Lannister?”

His smile is like a knife.

“I believe in many gods, septa, and none. I have seen too much, done too much to believe there is any god who watches over us, guiding our actions, protecting us from harm. If that were true, would I be in this prison cell?”

“You murdered a man, Mr. Lannister. If you wish to save your immortal soul, you need to admit your guilt and beg forgiveness from whichever god you follow.”

“Which would you like me to claim, septa? The Faith of the Seven? Or mayhaps you would prefer I tell you I follow the Many —Faced God; would that be better? I don’t think the Many —Faced God will judge me quite as harshly as the Hanging Judge. Or mayhaps I should claim allegiance to the Drowned God, if that river out there was salt water rather than fresh, and pray that I, too, will rise from the dead, harder and stronger. Or mayhaps I should convert to Snowianity, ask you to baptize me in that very same river, if only so I can go to the gallows with the filth of this cell washed from my skin.”

Brienne doesn’t allow herself to react to his words. She’s heard worse in her years here, supporting the condemned men in their days or hours before they are led to the gallows.

She realizes Mr. Lannister is watching her with brightly curious green eyes.

“You’ve heard worse?” he asks and she blinks. He grins. “Never play poker, septa, you’ll lose your septa’s gown in two hands.” His grin fades. “No more prayers. No more talk of gods and their non —existent mercy.  _Talk_  to me instead. You’ve heard worse?”

He wants to talk, she thinks, feeling heavy from the weight of the six men who have already died this week. She can do that, and mayhaps in the talking, guide him to a salvation that works for him.

“Yes, Mr. Lannister, I’ve heard worse.”

“And experienced worse?” She frowns and he nods his head. “Your nose. I assume you broke it here?”

She flushes as her hand flies to cover her crooked nose from his gaze. “It wasn’t the first time,” she says grudgingly.

He raises an eyebrow. “Tell me more,” he purrs.

She fights the urge to bolt from the cell, to leave the wretched man to burn in the seven hells, but she is no coward. She’s made a vow to provide him succor and to escort him to the gallows when the time comes, and she needs must guide him towards divine forgiveness as much as his sorry life and soul allows.

“If I share the story, will you answer me honestly about which god you follow?”

He considers her thoughtfully then shrugs, his chains clanking. “Yes, septa, I will answer you honestly. But I want all the stories of how you’ve come by such a lovely shape to your nose.”

She grits her teeth then reminds herself she’s a woman of the Seven and the judgement of men has no meaning to her, and she forces herself to relax.

“The stories are not very interesting,” she says, “but I’ll tell them.” She shifts in her chair, trying to get more comfortable. “My brother Galladon broke my nose when we were children. We were wrestling and forgot that we were only playing. We both got angry, and he broke my nose with a too —hard blow.”

Mr. Lannister smiles a little. “And what did you break of his?”

She lowers her gaze to the cell floor. “I broke one of his fingers...we were both very angry.”

“Did you ever wrestle with him again?”

“Oh, yes,” she says with a fond smile. “He is the only boy of four, and I am almost as tall and broad as he is and therefore strong enough to properly battle him. Our sisters take after our mother—pretty and delicate, their strength hidden inside.”

“Unlike you? Where your strength is all on the outside for the world to see?”

Brienne gives him a calm look. “The gods create us as we are for a reason,” she says. “I suppose one of my reasons is so my brother would not grow so over —confident, he would forever act like an arse.”

That causes the grimy —yet —gorgeous man to gape then bark a laugh. “Ah, septa! You’re human after all!”

Her smile is slight.

“How many times has your nose been broken?” he asks.

“Three,” she says.

“Ah. So, the second time?”

“Here, in this prison,” she says. “The first man I escorted to the gallows did not wish to go. He thought he could take me as a hostage.”

Mr. Lannister raises an eyebrow. “You? He must have been a giant!”

“He was—and brutal. I have no doubt my end would have been...unpleasant.”

“The other guards rescued you?”

“I rescued myself,” Brienne says with a faint smile. “Keeping a headstrong brother in line has led to some...interesting tricks when you’re being attacked. He broke my nose, but I broke his leg. He was hanged the next day.”

There’s a newfound respect in Mr. Lannister’s eyes. “And the third time?”

She touches her nose, then brushes her fingers across the twisted flesh of her cheek. “Another prisoner, one who was more animal than man. I was ill, weak with fever and yet determined to do my duty. I pitied him and did not wish him to face the walk to the gallows alone.” She shudders. “It was...horrific.”

His eyes are narrowed. “Your cheek. His teeth?”

She nods. “His last meal was my flesh.” She shudders. “A young guard, Gendry Waters, killed him. Shot him in the head while he had me on the ground and—” She stops abruptly, shaking the memories from her head.

They sit in silence for a long moment, then Mr. Lannister says, “I follow no god.”

She blinks and frowns.

“I have never followed any god. I have never been baptized into a faith, nor received any god’s blessing.” His smile is bleak. “You’ll have to pray more fervently than you’ve ever prayed before, septa, if you hope to gain mercy for my soul.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne digs into Mr. Lannister’s claim that he had never followed any god.

“You must have followed the Old Gods at least,” she finally says uncertainly.

“No, my grandparents were followers of the Faith,” he says blithely. “My parents were made of more skeptical stuff.”

She is speechless. In her three years at this prison, she has never met another man who claimed to follow no god at all. Even the half —feral creature who had bitten her face had claimed to follow the Faith, as had the giant who had only broken her nose.

She stares silently at the man.

He shifts uncomfortably, the noise of his shackles and chains loud in the quiet of the cell.

“Will you leave me now to face my fate alone, septa?” he drawls.

“I…” she chews her lip, uncertain what to say.

He watches her, eyes wide and calm and clear.

“Yet you are not afraid,” she says.

“I have never feared death, septa. I do not look forward to it; I do not desire it...but I do not fear it.” His mouth quirks into a smile that’s almost hidden by his shaggy beard. “You might say it has been my friend as much as it has been my enemy. But if, in the next two days, you can find me a god to worship where death is not a punishment but a blessing, I’ll consider converting.” His smile turns teasing. “But only if you ask me nicely. Brienne.”

To her surprise, she flushes at the way he says her name then sternly reminds herself that she’s a septa, and Jaime Lannister is not the first condemned man to attempt to flirt with her in hopes that she will help him to escape. Desperate times, she tells herself grimly, and many of the men she’s counselled have been very desperate indeed.

But Jaime Lannister does not seem desperate, either.

“I don’t know how to counsel you,” she finally says.

His expression turns rueful. “No more prayers,” he says. “No more nattering on about gods and forgiveness—for now. I won’t ask you to go against your training, septa. But I would ask you to simply  _talk_  to me.” He shifts again, his shackles clanking.

She watches him carefully, and finds herself wondering what, exactly, he’s truly thinking.

“I have three other men who hang in the morning,” she says slowly.

“Will you go and spend their last nights with them, praying for their souls?” he asks, and he sounds honestly curious.

She thinks of those men: a rapist who wouldn’t be in any prison if he hadn’t murdered the girl in front of witnesses; a monster of a man who murdered numerous people after chasing them down with his dogs; a young man from the Vale who threw the wrong person out the Moon Door—or so he claims. That young man is the only one for whom she feels true pity. There is something odd in his thinking and she doesn’t believe he fully understands the fate that awaits him in the morning. Judge Randyll Tarly simply dismissed her earlier today when she tried to bring it to his attention, when she reminded him of the young King’s new decrees.

She shakes her head. “None of them wish to have me intone prayers over them tonight,” she says.

“And so you are here, with me.”

“If you wish me to leave—”

“ _No!_ ”

She blinks at the almost desperate note in his voice. She peers more closely at him, wishing his features weren’t so obscured by his long hair and the dim light in the cell.

“No,” he says, more calmly. “The silence of this cell is worse, I think, than knowing the gallows await me.” He glances at her then away. “I’ll even listen to your prayers, septa, if you will also speak to me of other things.”

“I...there is not much for me to speak on.”

He smiles. “You have a headstrong brother and two sisters, who, I have no doubt are as headstrong as their siblings. That’s a start.”

She hesitates, and wonders at the part of her that is practically screaming at her to leave him—now—before it’s too late. To leave him to stew in his own guilt and not return until it’s time to escort him to the gallows. Because if she stays...if she stays...

Things will be changed forever if she stays.

Mr. Lannister cocks his head to the side as he watches her, his eyes questioning. “Brienne?”

She swallows, her throat clicking, and says, “I grew up on an island. Its ocean waters are so blue, it’s known as the Sapphire Isle, although it’s land is so green, it should be called the Emerald Isle instead.”

*/*/*/*/*

“Did you always want to be a septa?”

Jaime’s voice is thick with sleep, and Brienne starts a little. He had been silent for so long, she thought he had escaped into that sweet oblivion. She’s been dozing a little herself, truth be told.

“I...”

“No lying, Brienne,” he says, and now there’s a thread of amusement in his voice. “You can share your secrets. Who am I going to tell?”

Who is he going to tell, indeed, she thinks sadly, and not for the first time, wishes there was some option other than death for the men in this prison. Not that Judge Tarly would agree. She’s tried over the years to persuade the Hanging Judge to be more merciful; she suspects he would hang her, too, if he could think of a reason for it. As it is, he is only waiting for an excuse to force her out of her position here. Sometimes she wonders if she’s hoping to give him one.

“Brienne?” Jaime prompts, and she starts a little. It feels very late, and she wonders how long it is until sunrise. She should leave, she tells herself. She should leave and get some rest, so she can escort the next three men to the gallows.

“No,” she says softly, “no, I didn’t always want to be a septa.”

Jaime looks surprised. “No? Then how did you end up as one?”

“There was nothing else,” she says simply. “I was betrothed three times, and after the last one was... _unsuccessful_ , my options were limited. My parents would have loved to have me stay home, but I couldn’t simply live on their charity and then depend upon my brother’s good nature after our parents die.”

“You could have answered a wife wanted ad; gone to the northern frontier.”

“I couldn’t see myself marrying a man I’ve never seen. I also doubt I would have been welcomed with open arms once they saw me.”

Jaime chuckles. “I’ve heard the Wildlings want strong women, septa. You might have been more welcomed than you know.”

“And therefore destined for hard work, and the childbed, and naught much else.”

“So you decided to be a septa?” His skepticism makes her wince.

“It was the only other option open to me,” she says and though she tries to keep her tone neutral, she can tell from the way he looks at her that he’s caught the sadness underneath.

“Do you truly believe, then? In the Faith of the Seven?”

“I do truly believe,” she says firmly. “Being a septa may not have been my preferred path in life, but I have walked it gladly.”

“Is there forgiveness in the Faith for one such as me?”

“There is forgiveness in any religion for one such as you,” she says gently.

“But no forgiveness in the realm of men.”

She hesitates. “If you mean will your sentence be changed from death, then the answer is no.”

He gives her a tired grin. “Even though I had ever reason to do what I did?”

She gives him a sad look. “There is not much room for mercy in our laws,” she says slowly. “You murdered a man and no matter the reason, that is punishable by hanging.”

“And The Hanging Judge loves to hand out that sentence.”

“It is the law.”

“There’s the law, and then there’s mercy, and then there’s justice. Tell me, septa, what sentence would you pass on the men in this prison if you were the judge?”

“I am not the judge,” she says. “I pass no sentence, nor would I wish to do so. I am here to soothe your soul so you can meet your fate with a clear conscience, and with some semblance of remorse and dignity. I am here to assist you with saying whatever prayers you wish, to whichever god you worship. I am not here to pass any further judgement on you—or on your sentence.”

His half —smile is thin and cutting. “Do you truly believe prayers will save our souls?”

“It is the only thing we have,” she says quietly. “You tell me you have never been inducted into any faith. How is that possible? What did your parents believe?”

“My parents believed in our family name and naught else,” he says and now his smile is a little more relaxed. “If they believed in a religion, they never forced it upon me...or never told me of any.”

“I find that difficult to believe,” Brienne says uncertainly.

Jaime shrugs, shifting in his chains. “I don’t care whether you believe me or not, septa. It is the truth and your belief or lack of it doesn’t change that. I have never given my faith to any god.” He stops and scowls, staring off into the distance.

“You only have tonight and tomorrow before you must face the gallows,” Brienne says as gently as she can. “Mayhaps you should reconsider that.”

Jaime’s smile is bittersweet. “Mayhaps I should.”

*/*/*/*/*

“Where did you grow up, Mr. Lannister?”

Brienne doesn’t know how much time has passed. Time has no meaning in the dim light of the cell, seated on this uncomfortable chair, but the sky is dark outside the single small window, high on the wall.

Mr. Lannister draws in a sharp breath, as if she’s startled him awake.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “You were sleeping.”

“I seldom sleep here,” he says, “and my name is Jaime. Brienne.”

“Mr. Lannister—”

He chuckles, slow and deep and husky. “I grew up in the Westerlands,” he says.

“Lannister,” she murmurs, “Lannister. Related to the Lannisters of Casterly Rock?” She frowns. “Related to the young King?”

He chuckles again. “I’m from a distant arm of the family. Do you think even the Hanging Judge would have condemned me to death if I were a close relative to the young King? Or worse: a close relative to Tyrion Lannister, the Hand of the King?”

“Probably,” she says drily.

His teeth flash in a grin. “Well, he earns his nickname honestly then. More than can said for some in this mad world.” He pauses, glancing away, frowning a little. “I am distantly related to the royal family as well. Grew up in Lannisport, in the shadow of the Rock. The waters there are so thick with ships, if they were ever blue, it was long before my lifetime.”

“How did you end up here?” She means  _here_ , in the most notorious prison in Westeros, in the depths of the Riverlands, perched on the edge of the Trident. In this prison, even the young King’s mercy is accepted only if the Hanging Judge agrees with it…and he seldom agrees with it, no matter how many decrees the young King issues.

She thinks of the young man from the Vale, who doesn’t fully understand what’s about to happen to him. She thinks of the rapists Randyll Tarly allows to walk free. At least the man with the dogs deserves to die, she thinks, and is shocked at the bitterness in her heart.

Mr. Lannister shifts again, his shackles clanking as he shrugs. “I stopped a man from raping a girl. Unfortunately, I killed him instead of only maiming him, and here I sit.”

Brienne frowns. “The young King has issued an edict that anyone who kills another to stop a crime is to be spared the gallows.”

“The young King isn’t here, is he?” Mr. Lannister’s smile is cold and bitter. “What would the young King think of this prison, I wonder?”

“He thinks enough of it,” Brienne says. “It still exists, doesn’t it? And the Hanging Judge exists along with it.”

Jaime thoughtfully considers her. “So it does,” he murmurs. “How did  _you_  end up here?”

She blinks and looks away.

“Septa Brienne?” he asks, teasing a little. “Do you have a secret?”

She presses her lips into a tight line and glances towards the cell door. They are never truly alone, but the guard outside tonight is Gendry Waters, the same man who had once saved her life when no other guard was willing to act. She doesn’t exactly trust him—but it isn’t as though what brought her to this prison is anything that is secret.

“No,” she says, keeping her voice soft. “Not a secret.” She shifts on the uncomfortable chair and sighs. “I was sent to King’s Landing, when I first put on the septa’s robes. My father has some standing in the Kingdom, and it was decided that I should join the order that serves the High Septon himself. I was young and idealistic, and fervent in my desire to serve both the Seven and the smallfolk of the Kingdom. The young King had just ascended the Throne and had already begun initiating reforms, which I whole —heartedly supported. I...forgot my place, and began to implement the King’s decrees without waiting for the High Septon’s acceptance of those decrees.”

She remembers the High Septon’s anger, the… _reminder_  that her vows to obey the High Septon took precedence over the King’s orders.

“And so you were sent here, to teach you a lesson?”

“I had sworn an oath to obey him,” she says simply.

Mr. Lannister eyes are sharp and searching. “What did he do to you, Brienne?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

Her smile is slight but even so, she knows she is unable to hide its sadness. “I swore my oaths in front of the Seven,” is all she says.

Jaime’s smile is thin. “And the High Septon is not one to forgive or forget broken vows, is he?”

She glances at the door again then calmly meets his gaze. “No, Mr. Lannister. He is not.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne falls into a half —doze, her head drooping, her chin resting on her chest. The part of her that’s still semi —awake thinks she should go to her quarters and get what rest she can. Two of the three men will not haunt her dreams tomorrow, but that boy from the Vale...

“Brienne?”

She jerks awake.

“Mr. Lannister.”

He chuckles, a little sleepily. “I just had a dream that I was dragged through all seven hells while I screamed in agony. I think I’m ready now to hear you tell me again about the gods.”

*/*/*/*/*

Mr. Lannister asks her questions about each religion and each god in turn, until finally, as the darkness outside the one tiny window high in the cell wall slowly lightens towards dawn, he asks her about the newest religion in Westeros: Snowianity.

“Snowists worship Jon Snow,” she tells him, her voice thick with sleep. “They believe he died and was resurrected to protect us against the threat of the Others. When the Second War for the Dawn was over, and the last of the Others destroyed, the ice the Others had used to cover the world melted. The oceans thawed and rivers ran free and swift once more. It’s why followers of Jon Snow are baptized in fast flowing rivers.”

Jaime’s eyes are thoughtful. “How do you beg forgiveness in such a religion?” he asks.

“The same as any other. You pray to Jon Snow for his forgiveness and mercy. He sacrificed himself for all of humanity in the Second War of the Dawn. Followers believe that if you pray hard enough, Jon Snow will grant you his mercy, and you, too, will be resurrected.”

Jaime’s smile is thin. “Depending on what your life is like, that may not be a blessing.”

Brienne’s smile is involuntary. “That is a very good point.” She considers him thoughtfully. “You keep asking questions about Snowianity. Is this the faith that is calling to you in your time of need?”

Jaime sighs. “Yes, although I do not understand why.”

“Faith is not something you can always understand,” Brienne says gently. “Faith is sometimes following where you’re drawn.”

He smiles, his eyes warm. “And what if you’re drawn to a person as opposed to a belief?”

“That is what Snowianity is about,” she says. “It is the only religion in the world that we know of that has an historical figure at its core.”

“Jon Snow was real?” Jaime asks, surprised.

“There is evidence there was a man named Jon Snow, yes, who was murdered at the Wall prior to its collapse. The rest...well, no one really knows how much of the histories of the Second War for the Dawn are true and how much is simply legend and myth. The Others? Dragons? Magic?”

“You don’t believe in magic, Brienne?” Jaime asks, his voice a low rumble.

She blinks at him. “Only the magic of faith,” she says demurely and ignores the small shiver that runs down her back whenever he says her name.

He chuckles. “Well, that’s magic of a sort.”

“Would you like me to teach you the prayers of Snowianity?”

He considers her thoughtfully and she wonders what’s going through his mind to make him look at her like that.

“Please,” he says, his voice husky. “I don’t have much time left to beg some god for forgiveness.”

No, Brienne thinks as she begins to intone a prayer and the sky continues to lighten outside. He has only a day and a night left before he walks to the gallows and her voice falters a little as a sharp wave of grief swamps over her at the thought.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne leaves when the window shows the day has fully dawned.

“Will you return tonight?” Mr. Lannister asks, and for the first time, there’s a thread of worry in his voice.

She blinks owlishly at him, the cell door open and the new guard—Ronnet Connington—is waiting impatiently with a leer on his face. She nods then leaves, giving the guard a haughty stare as she strides past him.

*/*/*/*/*

She feels no pity for the man who used his dogs on his victims. She feels only slightly more pity for the rapist.

But the boy from the Vale...

When it’s over, she escapes to her bedchamber.

She tries to pray, but only weeps.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne is as composed as ever when she arrives at Mr. Lannister’s cell door that evening. She knows there are shadows in her eyes but none of the guards notice. Mr. Lannister gives her a searching look when she settles once again on the chair.

“Bad?” he asks.

“The last one,” she says, her eyes on her primly folded hands. “Just a boy, and lackwitted, at that.”

“I thought the young King had decreed new laws that forbade the execution of lackwits?”

Brienne keeps her gaze on her hands: large and freckled and mannish, yet as useless as a child’s. “Mayhaps that information has not yet reached Judge Tarly.”

Silence greets her words and lasts until she finally raises her eyes to his.

“Have they managed to break you, Brienne?” he asks softly.

She stares unblinkingly at him and feels a hot flush rising in her cheeks. “No,” she says.

She glances at the cell door and bites back the words that she wants to spill out: to tell him of the letters she writes to the High Septon, only to have that holy man punish her even more for daring to question Judge Tarly. She wants to tell him about the messages she’s sent—anonymously—to every member of the small council, to the Hand of the King, telling them of conditions in the prison, of the young King’s decrees that are being ignored. She wants to tell him about every argument she’s ever had with Judge Tarly, every objection she’s ever voiced, every small kindness she gave to the prisoners, every moment she’s been able to defy the Hanging Judge, no matter how small.

Only it’s all been for naught. Her efforts have not saved a single life and her messages have been ignored.

“No,” she says again. “They are not the ones who have broken me.” No, men such as Randyll Tarly and the High Septon could not break her, but those men close to the young King, those men who have ignored her pleas…

She meets his gaze with a steady one of her own. “Would you like me to tell you more about Snowianity?”

His eyes are searching and she holds her breath.

“Yes,” he says slowly, “yes. Please.”

*/*/*/*/*

She tells him again about the religion and he asks her probing, intelligent questions.

“You’ve thought long on this,” she says as the sky darkens outside his tiny window.

“There’s naught else to do in this cell, except think and sleep,” he says with a glimmer of a smile.

“At least you have thought upon the fate of your immortal soul. That is more than some have done.”

*/*/*/*/*

They argue theology. Even now, as the hours of his life tick down, Mr. Lannister challenges her beliefs and everything she holds sacred. Or mayhaps it’s the hours of  _her_  life that are ticking down.

In the dim semi —light of the cell, she finds she cannot tell the difference.

*/*/*/*/*

They are dozing; he in his chains on the bed; she in her uncomfortable chair, when he wakes with a start, chains clanking. She wakes as well, with a sharp gasp for breath.

He blinks blearily at her and thinks there is a dignity and a presence about her. He had not expected to find one such as her in this place. Good and kind and a true believer. She sleepily blinks her astonishing eyes and he thinks that in this light, she is almost beautiful, septa or no.

*/*/*/*/*

They talk for another while then Jaime says, “I hang in the morning?”

“An hour after first light,” Brienne says.

“Then if you’re going to save my soul, it will have to be now.”

She stares, those bottomless blue eyes unblinking. “Yes,” she says and he wonders what she’s thinking.

“I wish to convert to Snowianity,” he says and gives her a half —smile.

“If only so you can wash the filth of this cell from your skin before you hang?” she asks.

He chuckles. “If you can coax enough water from my guard to do so.”

She cocks her head, her gaze unwavering then she stands and walks to the door.

“Hyle,” she says when the guard opens it for her. “Find another guard. We’re taking the prisoner to the river for his baptism.”

*/*/*/*/*

Septa Brienne leads them to the river, droning prayers. Jaime keeps his head bowed in a posture of penitence, his long hair hiding his face, and wonders what Septa Brienne knows and what she’s planning. She’s no fool. Devout and innocent and gullible, yes, but not a fool, and of his three companions, she’s the one who worries him the most.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne leads the condemned man to the river, intoning prayers all the way. As she prays, she wonders what, exactly, Jaime Lannister is planning on doing. She has seen many penitent men in the years she’s spent at the prison, ministering to men condemned to die, and if there’s one thing she knows it’s that Jaime Lannister is not intending to convert to Snowianity or the Faith of the Seven or to any of the faiths currently in the world. The gleam in his eyes is still too wicked, too cunning, too teasing, even after two sleepless nights and his death only hours away.

He is not a man afraid to die.

She stumbles a little at the thought and the two guards escorting them snicker at her clumsiness. Not even her septa’s robes can shield her from their mockery. Her anger flares and fades just as quickly.

“Are you all right, Septa Brienne?” Jaime murmurs and she spares him a glance and a quick nod.

He flashes a grin. “Good. I’d hate to see you injure yourself before you’ve saved my soul.”

“As would I.”

One of the guards gives Jaime a hard shove and this time, it’s his feet that slip, and he cries out with pain as he falls to his knees on the sharp rocks, the noise of his chains and shackles loud in the quiet night.

“Hyle,” she says sharply, and hurries to help Jaime to his feet.

“Thank you, septa,” he says, and for a moment she can’t seem to look away from his emerald green eyes.

“Are you going to let his pretty face distract you?” calls the second guard, and Brienne hastily steps away.

She turns to the speaker and gives him a steady stare. “I’ll pray for your soul as well, Mr. Connington,” she says, and continues leading the way to the river.

*/*/*/*/*

They finally make it to the river, slowed down by Jaime’s scraped and bruised knees.

Septa Brienne orders the guards to unshackle him then leads him into the river.

“I am not a Snowist priestess,” she reminds him as they stand thigh deep in the water, the guards warily watching from the river bank, guns at the ready.

“I know,” he says, “but so long as you know the words...that should be enough.”

“It’s not the words, Mr. Lannister,” Brienne says, “it’s what you truly believe in your heart.”

_I believe you look like a goddess in this light_ , he thinks, but only says, “Yes, septa.” He lowers his voice. “I hadn’t expected you. Brienne.”

Her eyes widen, and he thinks they’re the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen.

“I hadn’t expected you, either,” she says, her voice too quiet for the guards to hear. “Jaime.”

He smiles, and even in the darkness, he can see she flushes. She looks away then begins the prayers, her fingertips resting lightly on his forehead, then dropping to his chest, touching each point where the saviour, Jon Snow, had been stabbed before being resurrected to save them from an ancient evil.

She finishes the prayer, and then comes the moment of truth.

Their eyes meet in the moonlight and Jaime knows she should lower him into the water. If she lowers him—

She gives him a hard push on his shoulders and he relaxes, allowing himself to fall backwards into the water—and then he’s beneath the surface and he’s kicking and gliding away as quickly as he can.

He breaks the surface for a breath and hears the guards shouting, Brienne’s excited voice, and he goes under again with the crack of a gunshot ringing in his ears.

*/*/*/*/*

Hyle Hunt and Ronnet Connington escort her to Judge Randyll Tarly’s quarters, where they wake him and tell him the prisoner due to be hanged that morning has escaped.

The Hanging Judge immediately sends out search parties then turns his attention to her. His eyes are coldly triumphant.

“Whip her. Twenty lashes. Then take her to King’s Landing. Let the High Septon pass the final sentence.” He rakes her from head to toe, his lips twisted with disgust. “I don’t care what else you do to her so long as I don’t ever have to see her again and she’s still alive when you deliver her to the Great Sept.”

*/*/*/*/*

Ronnet Connington takes perverse pleasure in stripping her of her septa’s robe, then ripping her shirt, leaving her topless. He laughs derisively at her small breasts, then whips her bare back himself. She gives him the screams and tears he seems to relish as the lash bites into her flesh.

Hunt tries to force himself on her immediately after, cursing as he fumbles at her breeches. She supposes he thought she would be weakened from the pain of the lashes or mayhaps he took her tears as a sign of her broken spirit. She immediately breaks his arm and nose and Brienne sincerely hopes he’ll be pissing blood for at least a week as she drives her knee into his groin and leaves him writhing in agony on the floor.

That earns her a beating, but Connington, at least, has no desire to rape her. He tells she’s too ugly for him and she laughs in his face at the idea that such an insult is supposed to matter to her. He glares at that, but the two other guards who had held her immobile while Connington rained his blows against her have already freed her. Even Connington knows better than to attack her without help, even if she’s bruised and bleeding and aching.

“You never deserved to wear that septa’s robe,” Connington spits then jerks his head at the other guards. “Get her on the cart. We’re leaving.”

*/*/*/*/*

Not even two hours after Jaime Lannister made good his escape from the noose, Brienne—bloodied and aching, in somebody else’s filthy shirt—is a prisoner herself and on her way to King’s Landing.

*/*/*/*/*

Connington sends a telegram to the High Septon from the first town they stop in. They continue on, and when they finally stop for the night, they strip her of her septa’s robes and lock her in a room at that town’s only inn.

She drags what she can in front of the door to prevent—or at least slow—the other two guards from reaching her if they take it into their heads to work together to rape her.

Once her door is as secure as she can make it, she gingerly, painfully cleans those of her wounds she can reach, shivering at the chill air of the room against her naked flesh. Once she’s cleaned herself, she washes as much of the filth and blood as she can from her borrowed shirt before she, still in her breeches, carefully slides beneath the blankets on the bed. She feels a vague sense of guilt at the bloodstains she’ll be leaving on the bedding from the wounds on her naked back.

The aching pain from her bruises and cuts, aggravated by the uncomfortable cart ride, as well as her distrust of her guards, makes her unable to sleep except in fits and starts, waking at every sound. When the sun finally rises, she’s sore and heavy —eyed, her body aching.

She dresses in her still —damp shirt then moves the furniture she had used to block the door and tries the handle. To her surprise, it opens easily and she’s puzzled as she limps from the room and down the stairs. She pokes her bruised and swollen face into the tap room, looking for her captors. The inn’s proprietor catches sight of her and hurries to meet her, a scowl on his fleshy face.

“Where are the men who were with me last night?” she asks as the proprietor leads her to the front desk.

The man pulls out two telegrams from a mail slot and holds them out to her as he says, “Your companions are already gone.”

He nervously takes in her size and her bruised and swollen features as Brienne takes the telegrams from his hand with a puzzled air.

“Gone?”

“Something’s happening at the prison,” he says. “A telegram arrived late last night, calling them back immediately.” He licks his lips and leans closer. “It sounded like the prisoners are rioting.” His voice is pitched low, and Brienne thinks that even a day’s journey from the prison isn’t far enough away from the reach of the Hanging Judge.

“And me?” she asks blankly.

The proprietor shrugs then nods at the telegrams. “The first one was addressed to your companions, but they’re gone, so...”

Brienne looks at the first telegram. It’s from the High Septon, telling Connington the High Septon strips her, Septa Brienne Tarth, of her septa’s robes and her vocation and she is no longer welcome in King’s Landing, the Great Sept of Baelor, and especially not in his presence. It ends with him telling her guards to ‘ _do with her as they will_ ’.

A chill shivers down her spine.

“When did this telegram arrive?” she asks.

“An hour after your companions left, m’lady.”

She blinks at the title, something she hasn’t heard directed towards her since she left Tarth to become a septa. She assumes it’s something the proprietor uses for all women with an educated accent...until she reads the second telegram. She glances up at the man.

“That one arrived a few minutes before you came downstairs,” he explains, nervously wringing his hands.

Her own hands tremble as she reads the words again.

“Money is being wired today. Stop. Come home. Stop. Father.”

It takes all her willpower to wait until she’s in her room before her tears fall.

*/*/*/*/*

Stripped of vocation and position, Brienne returns to Tarth. Her mother and sisters weep at her hideous scar, her twice —more —broken nose, and her still —healing face and back. Her father and brother grit their teeth, their Tarth —blue eyes sparking with murderous rage even as her father tells her that something happened at the prison and someone there had sent him a telegram, telling him where she was, which is how he knew where to find her. He also tells her that the Hanging Judge should, by now, be in King’s Landing, answering directly to the young King.

She doesn’t ask what happened that the Hanging Judge needs to answer for.

She doesn’t ask about Jaime.

She doesn’t want to know.

*/*/*/*/*

The days pass, Brienne’s body heals, and she slowly, cautiously, relaxes into the safety and love of her family. Her father tries and fails to hide his elation that she is no longer tied to a celibate order of septas. He tells her several weeks after she arrived home that he never thought she had been truly happy with that life.

She had been, though, she tells herself as she walks the island, or as happy as she had any right to be. No matter what Judge Tarly had done, no matter what the High Septon had intended, she had been _useful_ as a septa ministering to the condemned. At the very least, she had no longer been a burden on her parents and her brother and sisters.

If it hadn’t been for Jaime Lannister...if she hadn’t helped him escape...

She would have continued existing in that hellish prison until they finally succeeded in breaking her.

She doesn’t know if she’s grateful to Jaime or if she should hate him for disrupting her life, for simply being that honey —voiced man, beautiful even beneath his shaggy hair and rags and filth.

Not that any of it matters. She gave him the chance he needed. He took it and she will never see him again.

*/*/*/*/*

During her days, she finds herself praying for Jaime’s safety and that Judge Tarly’s men never found him. She prays even more fervently for both his soul and her own.

But at night, in her dreams, she hears Jaime’s deep, honeyed voice telling her things he never said. In her dreams, he tells her she was never meant to be a septa, that she is as much a woman as any other, that she was meant for a man’s touch. In her dreams, his voice strokes across her skin, leaving fire and aching longing in its wake. She only has a vague understanding of what she’s longing for, but she has heard enough confessions to know the pleasures of the flesh are strong temptations indeed and that what Hyle Hunt had tried to do to her is a perversion of the act. Even so, what dream —Jaime’s words do to her body must surely come directly from one of the Seven Hells to set her so aflame.

When she wakes, soaked in sweat with her body yearning for something she will never have, she prays even more fervently to forget his voice.

*/*/*/*/*

Three months after Jaime’s escape, a little boy runs up and plants himself in her path as she strolls through Evenfall Town, forcing her to stop in her tracks.

She gives the boy a quizzical smile.

“The man asked me to give this to you,” the child blurts and holds out a folded piece of paper, sealed with wax.

“Oh?” Brienne says, surprised as she takes the note. “What man?”

The child shrugs and holds out his hand. She digs for a copper star and drops it in the dirty hand then watches, bemused, as the boy scampers away. She shakes her head, a small smile on her face, as she turns her attention to the note. Mayhaps a note from the High Septon, she thinks for a terrified moment, but the paper is not near fine enough and the wax that seals the paper together is stamped only with a thumbprint and not a sigil.

A smallfolk who needs succor, she decides, and is desperate enough to beg it even from a disgraced septa.

She breaks the seal and reads:

_Brienne,_

_I find I cannot bring myself to call you septa, mayhaps because I stopped seeing you as a septa during those two long nights you tried to save my soul. Or mayhaps it’s because of the way you glowed while bathed in moonlight._

_I hope you will not long mourn for the loss of your septa’s robes or the loss of your position, providing last words of comfort to condemned men in that hellish prison. I think you will find life on your Sapphire Isle will suit you better. Do not lose heart, Brienne: love and adventure still awaits you; you only need to recognize it when it finds you._

The note is unsigned, not that it needs it. She crumples the paper in her hand then hastily smooths it out and daintily refolds it. Her hands shake as she carefully tucks it into her pocket and hurries back to her rooms at Evenfall Hall.

She reads it again, chewing on her bottom lip. She doesn’t know what to think. It’s dated the day after Jaime’s escape and she wonders how he knew, even then, that she was on her way home. She wonders who the man was who told the child to deliver the note to her.

For a moment, her heart leaps at the idea that Jaime might have been on Tarth before she pushes the thought away. He has no need to be on Tarth, and he cannot dare to be near her, because—despite it all—she would be honor —bound to turn him in to her father.

She flattens the note, and slides her finger across the words.

How did he know she is no longer a septa? How did he know she had come home to Tarth?

Can she trust this note? Can she trust it is real, written in Jaime’s hand and not some cruel jape from someone who has learned a version of the story? Hyle Hunt was there that night in the river, as was Ronnet Connington. Neither man has reason to be kind to her.

Yet...

What does it hurt if she believes this note is truly from Jaime? No one need know she longs for a man she only knew for three or four days, a man who had been sentenced to hang.

It would be amusing if it weren’t so pathetic.

She carefully refolds the note and hides it amongst her smallclothes.

*/*/*/*/*

In the days after she received the note, Brienne finds herself remembering every moment they spent together, everything they spoke on. She remembers him telling her he had killed a man while stopping a rape.

She knows Judge Tarly believed her a fool, that Jaime had tricked her in order to escape...but she had given Jaime his chance because she had believed him.

She can’t bring herself to regret her decision even as her conscience whispers in her ear: _what of those other men? What of all those other men you prayed with, who told you they were innocent? What of all those other men you escorted to the gallows, praying for their souls with each step?_

She goes to the sept each day to pray and wonders where Jaime is now.

She wonders how she will learn to live with her conscience.

*/*/*/*/*

She takes the note out of the drawer every now and then, reads the words and hears his deep voice speaking them. She wistfully hopes he really sent it. It gives some colour to her colourless albeit busy days.

She is not _unhappy_. She had missed her father and mother, her sisters and her brother. She had missed Tarth and its slow and beautifully peaceful days.

But she is drifting, trying to understand her role now. Trying to find a purpose.

Alysanne is soon to be married, and Galladon is wooing Shireen Baratheon, granddaughter of the Royal Governor of the Stormlands, Steffon Baratheon. Galladon teases Brienne unmercifully, although she catches him occasionally glaring at the scar on her face, stark grief in his eyes.

She takes him to the beach below Evenfall Hall, the same beach where they had played so often as children. As they stroll along the sand, she tells him how she acquired the scar on her face and assures him the man is dead.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Galladon growls in response. “You never should have been in such a situation in the first place. And if you were, I should have been the one there to protect you.”

“You did protect me, Galladon,” she says. “You taught me to fight, and that has saved my life more times than I care to remember.” She spares a fleeting thought for Hyle Hunt. She rather hopes she managed to geld him, then sends a prayer to the Father begging forgiveness for her cruel thoughts.

“That doesn’t make me feel better, sweet sister,” Galladon says.

“Look at me,” she says with a smile. “I can defend myself.” She touches her ravaged cheek and grimaces. “Even if I get a little battered and scarred in the process.”

Galladon turns to her and grasps her shoulders. “To me, you will always be that little wide —eyed girl who kept me in line even as you loved me without question. You are my little sister and I never should have allowed you to leave for King’s Landing.”

She gives him a fierce hug. “As if you could have stopped me,” she whispers in his ear and he laughs.

“I’m glad you’re back, Brienne,” he says as he hugs her close. “I’m glad you’re safe now.”

*/*/*/*/*

The days drift by.

News from the mainland arrives by ship and by telegram: the young King has begun to punish those in his kingdom who refuse to follow his new decrees. There are whispers in the streets and taverns, the bathhouses and the marketplaces, telling of uprisings and soldiers and battles, and rumors that the man called the Kingslayer, exiled fifteen years before and forgotten, has returned to Westeros.

The Kingslayer is back, the whispers say, and he is riding to enforce his nephew’s edicts throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

Brienne’s father speaks of it at their dining table one night.

“I’ve received a telegram from King’s Landing,” he says as he methodically demolishes the food on his plate. “The rumors are true. The Kingslayer is back.”

Brienne frowns. “Where had he been?” she asks.

She vaguely remembers the stories, how the Kingslayer had shot the King in the back and gave the Throne to the King’s daughter, Princess Shaena. The Kingslayer’s brother, Tyrion, was married to the new Queen, and now acts as Hand of the King to his young son, who ascended the throne after the Queen died in child —birth four years earlier. The young King is only thirteen but is, by all accounts, a good —hearted boy advised by good —hearted men.

Except when it comes to Judge Randyll Tarly’s prison, Brienne thinks then pushes her bitterness away.

Her father shrugs, his eyes on his plate as he continues eating. “Who knows? Essos, or Dorne, or the Summer Isles, or mayhaps even north of the Wall. It matters not: he’s back now.” He chews a piece of beef then says, “The rumors are his brother sent for him, begging his help.”

“You sound pleased,” Arianne says.

“I am,” Selwyn says. “The King is young, yes, but his edicts have been reasoned and pragmatic, beneficial mainly to the smallfolk of the realm. Those who resist the edicts do so because they feel their own power and wealth are being undermined, and don’t understand that there is more opportunity given the new edicts than they understand.” Selwyn lifts his gaze from his plate and looks at Brienne. “The High Septon has been removed from his position.”

Brienne drops her knife and fork with a clatter. “ _What?_ The young King has no authority—”

“The young King has friends in the Faith, those who wish to see reforms to the religion to improve how it treats the smallfolk it pretends to serve.” Selwyn’s smile is slight. “There is a new High Septon, one who was replaced by the septons and septas who descended upon King’s Landing at the young King’s request to make that very decision.”

“Will you go to King’s Landing and beg to have your septa’s robes returned to you?” Alysanne asks Brienne.

All eyes turn to Brienne.

She could, she realizes. She could make her way to King’s Landing, beg the new High Septon to be returned to her order, beg to be sent out to provide succor to the smallfolk, as she had always hoped.

Then she remembers the words in the note she received weeks ago:

_Do not lose heart. Love and adventure still awaits you; you only need to recognize it when it finds you._

She blinks and looks at her family.

She knows Jaime was not speaking of himself, knows it would not occur to him that she would think he could mean himself.

Yet she believes the words nonetheless.

“No,” she says, very quietly, then, more strongly, “no.”

*/*/*/*/*

A couple weeks later, her mother tentatively suggests arranging a marriage for her and Brienne, to her own surprise, promises to consider it. She strolls through Evenfall Town, mulling the idea over. She needs must do _something_ , especially now she has rejected the possibility of becoming a septa again. Galladon announced his engagement to Shireen Baratheon two days before, and both families are well —pleased with the arrangement. She could, Brienne supposes, stay and be septa in role if not title to her siblings’ future children.

Some days, she’s not even sure she truly regrets being stripped of her septa’s robe. Her time in the Faith was not… _enjoyable_. Yet she needs must do _something_ with her life…but _marriage?_ With her mannish form and her scarred and ugly face?

She remembers the sneer on Hyle Hunt’s face as he tried to force himself upon her at the prison. She thinks of her three failed betrothals, the last of which had driven her to the Faith and a life of pious service.

Then she remembers Jaime Lannister and the heat he stirred in her belly simply from the way he looked at her and the tone of his voice. It was done to manipulate her, yes; done simply to win his freedom, true. But it had also shown her she still has a woman’s hungers, a woman’s desires, despite her mannish body and ugly face.

But can she—or her mother—find a man who is willing to overlook her shortcomings and who also kindles a heat in her own belly?

She skims her fingers over the scar on her cheek and deflates.

Unlikely, she thinks, and turns her feet back to Evenfall Hall.

She doesn’t go more than a dozen steps before a dirty urchin steps in her path.

“Lady Brienne?” she says and holds out a folded piece of paper sealed with wax. “I have a note for you.”

*/*/*/*/*

This time Brienne waits until she’s safely in her room before she breaks the seal. She wants to keep the delicious hope that’s been tickling her stomach alive because she _knows_ it cannot again be from Jaime.

But she knows it can’t be, and it is most likely someone begging for her father’s favour. If they’re desperate enough to send her a note, then she needs must find out what it is and do what she can to help.

She sighs and opens it.

Her heart leaps into her throat when she immediately recognizes the handwriting. She sees it’s dated two weeks after Jaime’s escape as she eagerly scans the words:

_Brienne,_

_I hope you are enjoying your time on your Sapphire Isle. You seem made to walk lonely beaches, bathed in sunlight as waves lap your feet._

_I know what the Hanging Judge and his men did to you. Be assured, they will pay. I will see to it. Personally._

_Rest. Heal. Allow yourself the same forgiveness you offered to the men you counselled while you worked in that prison; allow yourself the same understanding you offered me._

_Love and adventure can still be yours, Brienne. You just need to be patient and have faith._

_*/*/*/*/*_

Over the next several weeks, more notes arrive. Each one is dated closer to the current day, and tells her small snippets of the fates of Judge Tarly (“ _he is enjoying the young King’s hospitality, deep in the black cells of the Red Keep_ ”), Hyle Hunt (“ _he’s been sent to the Wall; it is not a kind fate_ ”) and Ronnet Connington (“ _his jaw was broken when he tried to escape the custody of the young King’s men._ ”)

The notes are all short. They lack the details Brienne craves and fail to explain where, exactly, Jaime is, or how he knows the information he shares with her. The only comfort she can truly draw is that he’s safe...or at least he was three weeks ago, which is the date of the last note she’s received.

Her mother notices her distraction.

“Will you tell me?” she asks one early afternoon as they stroll along the beach in front of Evenfall Hall.

Brienne flushes, nervously stroking her scarred cheek.

“It’s a man, of that I am sure,” her mother says with a gentle smile and Brienne’s flush deepens. “Mayhaps the man who escaped your custody?”

“How—? Why would you think that?”

Her mother stops and looks at her, her eyes soft. She reaches up and cups Brienne’s scarred cheek.

“For two reasons. First, you have a soft heart, Brienne, but you are one of the strongest people I know. That man would never have convinced you to take him to the river if your feelings hadn’t blinded you.”

“I wasn’t blinded, Mother. I knew what he intended.”

Her mother smiles. “That proves my point,” she says.

Brienne frowns. “You said there were two reasons. What’s the second?”

“Ah.” Her mother reaches into the pocket of her dress and pulls out a note sealed with wax. She holds it out to Brienne with a bittersweet smile. “I have a message for you.”

Brienne stares at the paper in her mother’s hand for a long moment, wondering if all the other notes had been a well —meaning mummer’s farce orchestrated by her mother.

“Take it,” her mother says softly, “and have faith.”

Brienne reaches out with a trembling hand and takes the note. Her mother stands on tiptoes and brushes a kiss against Brienne’s cheek before she turns and walks away.

Brienne takes a deep breath and breaks the seal.

It has the current date and only two words:

_Turn around._

Her breath catches, and she doesn’t know if it’s her blood or the ocean waves that’s roaring in her ears. She sways a little then stiffens her spine and turns.

His golden hair gleams in the sun. His beard is gone, replaced by several days’ growth of stubble, and her breath catches at seeing just how handsome he truly is when his features are not hidden by long hair and a thick, filthy beard. He’s dressed in gold armor emblazoned with the roaring lion of House Lannister. He looks every inch the lord he most obviously is and nothing like the filthy condemned criminal he had been in that prison.

He starts walking towards her, his crimson cloak swirling behind him, and a distant part of her wonders why he has dressed so formally for a meeting on a beach.

The thought seems to wake her muscles and she hesitantly starts walking towards him.

They stop when they’re a couple feet apart and consider each other in silence.

Finally, Brienne says, “Why are you here?” She’s trembling even though the breeze from the ocean is warm.

Jaime cocks his head, his eyes amused, and that, she notices with something like relief, hasn’t changed.

“I thought you might be curious,” he says.

“Curious,” she says slowly. “ _Curious._ ”

“Or that you would at least like to know I was still alive, septa.”

She winces a little at the title. “I’m a septa no longer.”

“I know,” he says softly.

She nods. Of course he knows; he’s mentioned it enough times in the notes she’s received. Unless—

“Have you been sending me notes?” she blurts.

He raises an eyebrow and gives her a lopsided smirk. “Have you helped so many prisoners escape you can’t determine which one might be writing to you?”

She flushes. “I have had too many cruel japes played on me, Mr. Lannister, to assume anything.”

“Mr. Lannister,” he says softly and laughs.

“Why are you here?” she asks again.

“I’ve here for you, Brienne,” he says. “You’re no longer a septa.”

Her eyes narrow. “No. But you are still a wanted man.”

His grin is wickedly teasing and she flushes.

“Wanted by the law,” she hastily clarifies.

His grin widens. “Not any longer,” he says. “I’ve been granted a full pardon by the Crown.”

She scowls. “What? Why would the young King pardon you?”

He shrugs. “The Small Council itself sent me to that prison to investigate. Besides a steady stream of letters detailing what they hoped were the unbelievable conditions at the prison, the Hanging Judge was executing far too many men who also happened to be supportive of the young King. The Hanging Judge was also far too reluctant to implement the young King’s edicts.”

She pales. “You mean...those men were all innocent?” she whispers, feeling sick.

“Not all of the men hanged in the last three years were friends to the young King; the Hanging Judge did occasionally mete out the appropriate justice. But others? Innocent of the crime for which they were hanged, yes, but that doesn’t make them _innocent_. They were truly guilty of something, have no fear. “

Brienne frowns. “And you? What are you truly guilty of?”

“I really did kill the previous Targaryen king,” he says calmly, “but since my actions put the current regime on the Iron Throne, no one seems to mind too much.”

She draws in a hissing breath. “You’re the Kingslayer? Uncle to the young King?”

Jaime bows as deeply as he can while clad in gold armor. “At your service, my lady. I am also Lord of Casterly Rock and Royal Governor of the Westerlands.” His smile is sharp and almost bitter. “My father died two months before I became a guest in your prison.”

She blinks and his expression softens.

“I don’t understand,” she whispers.

“I was never truly exiled,” Jaime says. “King Aerys II was mad and deserved to die…for many reasons…but it was better for all concerned if I was not a visible member of the new Queen’s court. I went North, beyond the Wall, and I spent some time in Essos and the Summer Isles. I returned permanently when I received word that my father was dying coupled with a plea from my sweet brother to return to King’s Landing and help him root out those who were resisting and possibly plotting rebellion against the young King.” He smiles. “I had a small group of my men camped near the prison. Even if you hadn’t taken me to the river, my men were attending every execution, awaiting my turn on the gallows. They would have rescued me regardless.”

Her eyes widen then narrow. “So we risked our lives for nothing?” she snaps.

“We risked our lives so fewer people would be hurt if I could manage to escape on my own.” He frowns. “I didn’t expect the Hanging Judge to order the punishment he did. You were already gone by the time we raided the prison.”

Brienne remembers the bite of the lash and winces. “Yes,” is all she says and shakes her head. “Why are you here?” she asks again.

“I told you: I’m here for you. I sent a telegram before I left the mainland and asked your father for your hand in marriage.”

Brienne’s jaw drops. “Why would you do such a mad thing?” she sputters.

Jaime reaches out and tentatively touches her arm. She flinches but doesn’t move away. His smile is as tentative as his touch as he slides his fingers down her arm and gently takes her hand, intertwining their fingers.

“Many reasons,” he says softly. “Because you have the kindest ways. Because you have the most beautiful eyes in the world. Because I ruined your life and I owe you a debt.”

She tries to jerk her hand away at that but he simply tightens his grip.

“Because you’re meant for grander things than being a septa ministering to condemned men in the most notorious prison in Westeros.”

Now she does jerk her hand away and spins round. But she’s only taken two steps when he says, “And because I love you.”

She stops in her tracks and stops breathing as he closes the space between them.

His breath whispers against her ear, making shiver, as he gently says, “I thought my notes made that obvious?”

She takes a quick breath as she gives a small shake of her head, but she refuses to turn and look at him.

“It won’t be an easy life,” he says. “My father was not a kind man and he damaged many of House Lannister’s relationships with the other Houses of Westeros as well as in the Westerlands. Westeros is restless, with the nobility resisting the young King’s reforms and that means King’s Landing is a viper’s nest of betrayals and lies. But the young King is a good child and I think he’ll grow to be a good King, if we can keep him surrounded with good people.”

“A political marriage?” she forces out, her throat tight.

“We’ll eventually find an appropriate wife for him, I’m sure, but he’s only thirteen, after all. There’s time.”

Now she spins round. “For you, you _idiot_!”

He grins. “Is that any way for a septa to talk?” he purrs and kisses her.

_*/*/*/*/*_

By the time they stop kissing on the beach, he’s told her again he loves her, and she’s said the words back to him, and she finds herself agreeing to marry him before her good sense can reassert itself.

Her mother and sisters are ecstatic while her father and brother are suspicious. They take Jaime away for a private conversation, and the harsh set to their features sends a chill down Brienne’s spine.

She needn’t have worried: the only damage she can see the next morning is three men with raging hang —overs.

*/*/*/*/*

Despite her family’s best efforts, Jaime finds ample opportunities to sneak her away to hidden places where he proceeds to kiss her breathless while whispering how much he loves her into her ear.

They marry in the sept of Evenfall Hall a week after his arrival. They do it so quickly both because Jaime needs must return to King’s Landing as soon as possible, and because, her father says drily with a pointed glare at Jaime, the bedding is obviously in a race with the wedding, and Selwyn’s determined the wedding will win. Brienne’s face glows with embarrassment while Jaime simply smirks and shrugs in rueful agreement.

They spend their wedding night in a special bridal bedchamber, decorated prettily by her mother and sisters, and far from the rooms of her family for privacy. There, Jaime treats her gently, explores her carefully, and encourages her own shy explorations of him.

After, he curls round her, tells her she’s beautiful and that he loves her, and, just like she had in the prison: she believes him.

*/*/*/*/*


	34. Addendum 4:  Megastar/PI

“Do you believe in soul mates?”

Jaime blinks bleary eyes, trying to bring the speaker into focus. Female. Young. Is it just him, or are the groupies getting younger every day? A moment of terrified sobriety shocks him as he peers intently at the woman, suddenly praying with every fibre of his being that she’s of legal age. With his reputation, no one would ever believe he had been too drunk to notice.

Well.

Then again.

Maybe they  _would_  believe it.

“Baby?” the woman coos and he sinks back into his alcohol-fueled haze.

“Soul mates?” he slurs and lets his head fall back against the cushions of the limo’s back seat. “No such thing, sweetheart.”

“But you sing about them!”

Jaime’ smile is as cruel as it can be when he has no feeling in his face. “Anything to make a buck, baby.”

The girl flounces back on her seat, crossing her arms against her more-than-ample chest. “So this weekend? Doesn’t it mean anything to you?” She’s pouting and Jaime sees her big eyes fill with tears and that strikes more terror in his heart than the fear she may not be as old as he thinks.

“Of course it does, darlin’. It’s been amazing!” He’s sure he’s telling the truth; he just wishes he could remember where they’ve been and what they’ve done. He does his best to smile his patented Jaime Lannister smile, guaranteed to have panties flying up on stage at his feet, but he’s not sure how successful he is because the girl—gods,  _woman,_ he fervently hopes—is now watching him with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

“Yeah?” she snaps. “What’s my name?”

*/*/*/*/*

They drop her off in front of her house. Even pissed out of his mind and being, well,  _Jaime Lannister_ , Jaime knows better than to simply leave a young woman stranded in a strange part of town.

Not that it hadn’t been tempting. She screeched and screamed and cursed at him—most of which he’s heard before, if the familiarity of the words is anything to go by—and he had to not-so-gently explain they were in  _his_  limo when she tried to kick him out of the car. She even jumped out of the limo at one set of lights and they had to coax her back in. After that, he offered to sit in the front with Bronn if it made her feel better.

She softened instantly and it led to a quite skilled attempt at a persuasive blowjob, but besides being drunk, the last thing he needs is a groupie who thinks they’re soul mates just because they fucked.

At least, he assumes they’ve fucked.

It’s a relief when she’s out of the car and they watch her walk rather forlornly to the large house in the suburbs and disappear round the back. They pull away once they see a light go on inside.

Jaime leans his head back against the cushions with a sigh and lowers the window between him and his driver.

“Home, Bran,” he says.

“It’s Bronn, sir.”

Jaime chuckles. “I know.” He sighs. “Just...take me home,” he says, and there’s a sadness in his voice that surprises even him.

They sit at a green light in silence until Jaime sighs again.

“I have a mansion somewhere in the city, so I’m told.” This time his chuckle is bitter. “If that hasn’t been stolen out from under me, too, that is.”

*/*/*/*/*

The place is huge and garish and blazing with light and there are cars parked everywhere, it seems. There looks like a hundred people milling round the front yard, some of whom are engaged in an orgy behind a set of decorative shrubs, if the movements of their shadows are any indication.

Jaime scowls as he staggers from the car and turns to Bronn. “Sure this is the right place?”

“It’s the only place that comes up on the StarMap app,” Bronn says. “Maybe you rented it out?”

“Maybe.” He glances over his shoulder at the place. “Well, I’m sure I’ll at least find a place to crash for the night.” He gives Bronn a crooked grin. “Come searching for me tomorrow, yah?”

Bronn shrugs. “Sure, why not?” he says and gets in the car and drives away.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime wakes to a painfully full bladder, a pounding headache, and his phone trilling his most famous hit song. He groans and covers his head with a pillow and sighs with relief when his phone falls silent. He doesn’t know what time it is, but it’s light in the room, so it’s obviously too early for him to be awake let alone speaking to anyone.

On the other hand, he really does need to piss.

He stumbles out of bed with his eyes mostly closed and staggers to the door. He opens it and steps through, then stops.

Something seems off.

He opens his eyes enough to realize he’s in a hallway.

Shit.

He hopes he hasn’t locked himself out of his hotel room.

Again.

He turns round and to his relief, the door opens beneath his hand. He tries the only other door in the room and blinks uncomprehendingly at an empty closet.

What kind of hotel doesn’t have a bathroom attached to the room?

His phone starts singing again but he decides emptying his bladder is much more urgent.

He wanders back to the door and into the hallway. If he can find the lobby...

*/*/*/*/*

He’s standing in a kitchen, utterly confused, when a plump, middle-aged woman walks in and jumps back with a small screech when she sees him.

“Bathroom?” he pleads.

She points at a door. “Third door on the right.”

“You’re an angel,” he breathes.

*/*/*/*/*

He staggers back to the kitchen, a bottle of Pycellenol in his hand. He’s glad to see the angel is still in the kitchen, although he now notices her mouth is pursed in disgusted disapproval.

“Can I get some water?” he says and holds up the pill bottle.

“Are you only going to take two of those?” she snaps even as she reaches for a glass and fills it for him.

“For now,” he says. “Who knows, I may need two more in four hours or so.”

She sniffs, crossing her arms over her matronly breasts and glaring at him.

“Look,” he says after cautiously downing the water and Pycellenol, “can you tell me where I am?”

“You’re in a house.”

Jaime gives her a tired smile. “I’ve finally figured that part out. Whose house is this?”

“Jaime Lannister’s.  _The_  Jaime Lannister’s. In Lannisport.”

“Huh,” he says as fragmented memories return: the girl; nowhere else to go; Bronn dropping him off at the front door. “Right.”

The angel sniffs, disapproval oozing from her pores. “You can sleep it off, but you better be gone before the tenants get home.”

“Tenants?” he asks and wishes he wasn’t quite so hung over so he could remember when or if he’d been told he’d rented the place out.

She nods. “They won’t be happy to hear about the party last night,” she says with glee. “Better you’re out of here before then, if you know what’s good for you.”

He nods again and thinks he’ll worry about all of this when he’s sobered up a bit.

He turns to go then pauses, frowning. He turns back to the angel and says, “Do you know which room I’m in?”

*/*/*/*/*

It takes some searching but they finally find the room—mainly because his phone is fucking ringing— _again_.

“Well,” the angel sniffs, closing the door behind her, “at least you’re a fan of the man.”

Jaime grins then winces and crawls back under the covers. His last thought before he returns to unconsciousness is that he should have asked the angel where the bathroom was on  _this_  floor.

*/*/*/*/*

He wakes once more to the sound of his own voice. The phone goes silent then almost immediately begins singing again.

He curses, softly and creatively, and reluctantly decides he better see why the fuck his phone keeps making all that fucking noise.

He scrabbles for the annoying thing and looks at it with one eye slit open.

Thirty-seven missed calls. He glances at the time: ten.

In the morning.

He groans and scrolls through the numbers. A third from his agent; a third from his manager; and a third from a multitude of telemarketing numbers, most likely trying to sell him insurance or to scam his credit card information out of him. Too late, he thinks in weary amusement.

There are messages, too, but thankfully only two. He’s trained them well, he thinks as smugly as he can while still battling a raging hangover. He flops back on to the bed and closes his eyes, but his bladder is screaming at him again, his mouth is drier than the Dornish desert, and he supposes he should listen to the messages and maybe get back to at least his manager. Find out if he’d rented out this place.

He groans and shuffles out of bed, taking his phone with him this time, just in case the angel is gone and he never finds his way back.

*/*/*/*/*

He finds the bathroom by simply opening every door he sees. He finds a few more stragglers from the party the night before, still passed out in various stages of undress but more importantly, he finds the blessed toilet. He settles in and listens to his messages. Short and to the point from his agent and his manager: call me.

He calls his manager Addam first, not least because he’s currently sitting on the toilet and talking to Tyrion—his brother as well as his accountant—while doing so just leaves him open to all kinds of wrong…and bad puns if Tyrion realizes where he is.

Besides, Addam should know if he rented this place out and if he did, well...

Jaime grimaces and rubs the bridge of his nose. Hopefully Taena left enough on his credit cards so he can find a fucking hotel room for the night. Or maybe he can throw himself on the tenants’ mercy and offer to sing for room and board.

Addam answers. “Finally! Where the fuck are you?”

“At my house,” Jaime growls, his voice hoarse.

There’s silence at the other end of the line. “Your  _house_?”

“Gods, tell me I still own this place and that I haven’t just spent the night in a house owned by somebody else!”

“House, house, house,” Addam mutters then yelps, “oh!  _That_  place! From a couple years ago?”

“I guess,” Jaime says. “Did you buy more than one?”

“Over the years, yeah. But that one—wait, I remember it now! Picked it up for a song! Belonged to a famous magician or maester or something. Nobody wanted it when it ended up on the market but hopefully it’s doubled its value by now.”

“Good thing,” Jaime groans. “At least I still have shit to sell.”

“Yeah, look. I was calling to let you know Taena left the country. She was on a plane to Myr the same day she disappeared along with all your money.”

“Of course she was,” Jaime says drily. “She moves fast when she needs to.”

“Missed her by the skin of our teeth, really,” Addam says glumly.

“If I’d realized what she was doing just five minutes earlier, huh?”

“Yeah,” Addam sighs.

They end their call and Jaime finishes with the toilet, then eyes the shower. He wonders if he can sweet-talk the angel in the kitchen into doing his laundry...or showing him where it is.

Then he curses and calls Addam again.

“Twice in one day?” Addam teases when he picks up the phone.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jaime says. “Did you rent the house out to anyone?”

“Gods, no!” Addam replies. “I barely remembered you owned the place!”

*/*/*/*/*

He cajoles the angel in the kitchen—Nan, it turns out—to see if she can find some clothes he can wear. He has some luggage in the car, when or if Bronn ever decides to show up again, but until then...from the smell, he’s sure he’s been wearing the same clothes ever since he learned what Taena had done...which, as far as he can tell, was several days ago now.

He’s freshly showered and shaved, a bath towel slung low round his hips as he lounges in the living room Nan shoved him into with a disapproving scowl, when he finally calls Tyrion.

He holds the phone away from his ear as his brother’s curses shriek out of it at him. He cautiously brings it back when it seems he’s finally run out of breath.

“What have I done?” he asks, resigned.

“ _What have you done?_  What have you done! What  _haven’t_  you done? That hotel room is going to cost a fortune to repair! Did it have to be the fucking penthouse suite?”

Jaime scowls, trying to remember any hotel over the last couple days then shakes his head. “I guess we’ll have to give them my next two royalty cheques, then, huh?”

Tyrion pauses. “It’s not going to cost  _that_  much,” he mutters. “Thank the gods the public still loves you, Jaime, or you’d be in jail or worse!”

Jaime grimaces. “I know,” he says. “Hey, this house I own in Lannisport?”

“What about it?”

“Did I rent it out to anybody?”

Tyrion cracks what Jaime assumes is supposed to be a laugh and he can hear the crinkle of paper over the phone and then the fizzing as the antacids hit the water. “Gods, no! With your reputation, who the fuck would want it?”

“Love you, too, Tyrion,” he growls then looks up as the door opens and a woman bursts in. She stops in her tracks when she sees him, her eyes widening, her jaw slowly dropping. Nan’s looking righteously smug behind her but her look turns to puzzled confusion when the woman says nothing.

“Huh,” Jaime says to Tyrion, “I think my squatter just arrived.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he hears him mutter as Jaime disconnects the call.

He leans back on the couch, spreading his arms out on either side and takes a good, long look at the intruder. There’s a fleeting feeling of horrified recognition, but even  _he_  would remember if he’d ever met her before.

The woman is... _large_. Taller than him, and he stands six-two in his stocking feet. Broader than him, too, flat as a rail and with a face that can kindly be described as ‘having character’. Her overly-plump mouth is hanging open and Jaime half-expects to see her start drooling at any moment.

He raises an eyebrow.

“One of the infamous tenants the angel warned me about?” he asks.

That snaps the woman’s mouth closed. She scowls. “Angel?” She turns her startled, and really rather pretty eyes, on Nan, who gives her a puzzled shrug.

“Don’t be so modest, Angel,” Jaime says and thinks he’s enjoying this far too much considering he’s still battling the dragon-mother of all hangovers.

The giant woman’s glare turns accusing and Nan sputters an attempt at an offended denial. Jaime decides to be helpful.

“She showed me a place to piss, gave me water, helped me find my room, and she’s going to find some clothes for me, too, aren’t you, Angel?”

Nan flushes a deep, dark red as she seems to notice his state of undress for the first time.

Jaime heaves a disappointed sigh. “Well, can you at least throw my current clothes into the washer and dryer? I’d do it myself, but I’m a bit under the weather.” He turns sharp eyes to the tall woman, who seems to be expanding by the second. He idly wonders if she’s going to physically explode before she can do it verbally.

“You’re trespassing on private property!” she finally screeches and he winces.

“Actually, it’s more like  _you’re_  trespassing.”

“This is my house!”

“No, sweetheart, it’s  _my_  house.”

Both Nan and his still nameless tenant blink and stare.

“You mean you’re—?” Nan trails off, looking like she’s about to faint.

Jaime gives them a crooked smirk. “Why, yes, I am.”

“I want some identification,” the giantess snaps, her homely face marred by a scowl.

“Well, unfortunately, my wallet is in my other towel. I take it you’re not a fan?”

She flushes. “This is the Westerlands. We had a Jaime Lannister impersonator at the last party I attended.”

“You go to parties?”

She glares, then grits out, “I was working it.”

Jaime raises his eyebrow. “No offense, sweetheart, but you don’t seem like that kind of girl.”

Jaime half-expects blue lasers to shoot from her eyes, which really are quite lovely.

“I’m a caterer!”

“Really? So how does a caterer earn enough to pay rent on a place like this?”

“Maybe I’m a world-renowned chef, have you thought of that?”

He tilts his head in agreement. “Maybe you are. What’s your name? Maybe I’ve heard of you.”

“Not likely,” she sneers, “and it’s none of your damn business! Nan, call the police.”

“Already on their way, ma’am.”

“Oh, good,” Jaime says. “I hope it’s someone I know.” He gives them his patented Jaime Lannister smirk. “I’ve been arrested so many times, you see,” he adds helpfully.

“You’re pretty confident for a guy wearing nothing but a towel,” the giantess growls.

Jaime shrugs. “I’m Jaime Lannister. There’s nothing under this towel the world hasn’t already seen...whether I wanted it to or not.”

“The police are on their way,” the woman insists, and he raises an eyebrow.

“Are they? Really? We both know you never rented this house. I’ve just finished asking both my manager and my accountant and believe me, if anyone would know if I was making money, it would be them.”

The woman’s flushed face slowly pales.

“Look,” Jaime sighs, “as entertaining as this has been, I’m hungover to my toenails, I seem to have lost most of the last week along with a shitload of my money, and I’m really not a bad guy once you get to know me. So tell me who you are, why you’ve been squatting in my house—although I don’t blame you on that one; it’s actually rather nice once you get past the tacky paint job—and why there was an orgy in progress when I arrived last night.”

“Org— _Nan_!”

Nan raises her hands in mock surrender. “Don’t look at me, Brienne! I just get to clean up after all that shit.”

“ _Where is she?_ ”

“Still asleep somewhere. I didn’t even know where this one came from until he surprised me in the kitchen.”

“ _This one_  is still waiting for answers.”

There must be something in his tone because they exchange suddenly nervous looks and the woman—Brienne—turns to him and sighs.

“My name is Brienne Tarth, and you’re right. We are squatting here.”

“Who’s ‘we’? Or is Nan in my employ instead of yours?”

Nan gives him a look that should have struck him dead. “I work for Brienne,” she says haughtily.

“And the other ‘she’? Your friend? Relative? Wife?”

“Business partner,” Brienne growls. “I really am a caterer and this house was sitting empty just when we were all suddenly homeless.” She shrugs and deflates. “Seemed like a good idea at the time,” she mutters.

“Until I decided to crash an orgy.”

She closes her eyes and nods.

“Who’s the orgy thrower? Her I think I’ll like.”

“Of course you would,” Brienne says sourly. “My business partner, Nymeria Sand.”

“Wonderful.” Jaime smiles but even he can tell there’s a hard edge to it. “I’m going to go back to bed and sleep off this hangover although it might take twenty years from the feel of it. You’re welcome to stay until we get this sorted out.” He stands and his smile turns mocking as Brienne’s eyes unwillingly drop to watch him adjust his towel. “And if you really did call the cops, you may want to call them back.” He picks up his phone and saunters towards the door, then pauses and turns back to Nan with a frown. “Do you remember which room I was in?”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne glares at Nymeria Sand, who’s looking the worse for wear after being rousted from where she was sleeping between two incredibly attractive men Brienne is sure have more plastic in their faces than a Sansa doll. No way they could look that perfect without help.

“I was working,” Nymeria groans out, scrubbing her hands over her face.

“Uh-huh. Not sure what kind of business you think I’m running here—”

“Look, I was doing what you asked. I threw a party, got all the people there we needed to see together and let nature take its course. It just...got a little out of hand.”

“Did you at least get the pictures we needed?”

“I set up cameras everywhere, Brienne. I’m sure we got something.”

Brienne pinches the bridge of her nose. “You know, normally we just follow the subjects around until we catch them with their pants down for the money shot. We don’t usually invite them to an orgy!”

Nymeria shrugs. “Look, we’ve been following them around for weeks and nothing. They knew something was up—and I’m not making any puns there! If they finally dropped their pants here, then we have the money shot we’ve been waiting for. If they didn’t, well...” Nymeria’s grin is wickedly satisfied. “It was still a really great time.”

Brienne fights the urge to scream and then burst into tears. “And this is why we never get cases other than these slimy, dirty pictures ones!” she says instead, and winces at the whine in her voice.

Nymeria shrugs. “Hey, I can’t help it if you don’t want to have any fun with these things. I mean, let’s face it, Brienne: you’re not that great a detective. These are the only kinds of cases you’re ever going to get, so you may as well get some fun out of it.”

Brienne grinds her teeth wanting nothing more than to tell Nymeria she’s fired but she can’t. As much as she hates to admit it, she’s is right: she’s still trying to get her detective agency off the ground and these are the only cases she can get right now…but she still can’t stomach following people around waiting to catch them with their pants down...or their skirts up.

“But orgies, Nym,” Brienne groans, “and just when the owner of house comes home?”

Nymeria perks up. “Jaime Lannister’s here?”

Brienne groans and covers her eyes. “Can you at least let him wake up before you fuck him?”

*/*/*/*/*

That evening, Brienne watches Jaime deflect Nymeria’s determined flirting with practiced ease and reluctantly admits she’s impressed. Then again, he is  _Jaime Lannister_ ; he probably deflects the advances of twenty people a day.

She takes another look at him, and remembers how he looked in nothing but a towel.

Make that thirty a day.

She’s at least grateful that Nymeria is keeping with their cover story of being caterers—which she actually  _is_ , at least until her detective agency gets off the ground, but she doesn’t know if both her businesses will do better or worse once stories of the orgy get around.

She realizes Jaime has asked her something.

“I’m sorry,” she says, flushing, “I was distracted. What did you say?”

“I said, you do have another place to live, right?” Jaime says.

“Of course,” Brienne snaps a little too quickly and Jaime’ eyes narrow.

“You’re a bad liar,” he says and sighs, rubbing his temple. “Look, like I said before, I’m really not that bad of a guy once you get to know me, and I know what it’s like to be in desperate straits. And Nan really was a lifesaver earlier today. This house is huge, and it’s not like I have twenty-seven kids who need beds. I mean, I  _might_  have twenty-seven kids, but none of them have shown up yet demanding a paternity test. So you guys can stay until you find a place to live.”

Brienne’s eyes narrow. “Why?” she growls then glances at her business partner and tightens her lips. “Oh, gods, I was only out of the room for ten minutes! Don’t tell me you—”

Nymeria glares back. “I put out for the sheer joy of it, Brienne, not because I’m trying to get something in return.” She gives Jaime a considering look. “Other than pleasure, of course,” she purrs.

He raises an eyebrow. “Do I need to lock my door?” he asks and Nymeria shrugs.

“I don’t go where I’m not wanted,” she says.

“You’re living in my house right now without permission,” Jaime says drily. “I’d say your statement is not exactly accurate.”

“Thank you,” Brienne says quickly, grabbing Nymeria’s arm and dragging her towards the door. “We appreciate the kindness and we’ll start looking for a place to live right away.”

She hears him chuckle as she slams the living room door behind them.

*/*/*/*/*

“It was just getting interesting!” Nym protests as Brienne drags her back to the rooms they were using.

“For the gods’ sake, Nymeria! We’re lucky he didn’t call the cops on us! Just...behave yourself until we find another place to live!”

“I’m not bunking with you anymore, Brienne. You always put a damper on the fun.”

“I wasn’t inviting you to live with me, Nymeria! Once has been far, far,  _far_  more than enough!”

Nym sniffs. “Lucky thing I love you.”

Brienne rolls her eyes. “Have you managed to recover all the cameras?”

“Work, work, work,” Nym says, “and yes. They’re in your room.”

Brienne grimaces. “Thanks,” she mutters. “I’ll need to take a shower after I look through the footage.”

“Don’t erase anything,” Nym says as Brienne walks to the door. “If nothing else, we might have some blackmail material on there. There were some pretty big names at the party last night; you  _really_  should have been here.”

“Gods,” Brienne mutters and prays for strength.

*/*/*/*/*

The next morning, Jaime is thankfully feeling more human although he’s still just as fucked as he was before he went on his bender. Addam and Tyrion are on their way over with more bad news, he’s sure, but the police get there first.

He sighs as the two men walk into his living room and give him the cold, gimlet glare of seasoned cops not easily star-struck.

“Is this about the penthouse suite?” Jaime says. “I thought the hotel agreed not to press charges.” It was the one piece of good news Tyrion had texted him last night.

The cops raise their eyebrows and exchange a glance. “No, Mr. Lannister,” the older one says. His voice is a deep, soothing baritone and Jaime idly wonders if the man does narrations for wildlife documentaries in his spare time. “This is about Pia Peckledon. Better known as Jazz.”

Jaime frowns then shrugs. “The name’s not ringing any bells,” he says slowly. “What’s she look like?”

“It’s odd you don’t remember her, Mr. Lannister, considering you were holed up with her for almost four days in that penthouse suite you trashed.”

Realization dawns. “Is she about twenty—twenty-five years old? Big brown eyes, long blonde hair? Stacked like a brick shithouse?” The cops stare impassively. “Her name is  _Jazz_? Huh. You’d think I would have remembered that.” A slight chill goes down his spine as the two police officers continue to watch him in silence. “Oh, gods,” he says, “she  _is_  at least twenty, right?  _Please_  tell me she’s legal!” Gods, how much time was he looking at?

“Her age is the least of your worries,” says the younger of the two, tall with cold hazel eyes. “We’re homicide detectives. Pia Peckledon was found dead yesterday afternoon.”

*/*/*/*/*

“I’m Tyrion Lannister, Mr. Lannister’s accountant. And brother, to my horror.” Tyrion shakes each police officer’s hand then settles on the chair beside Jaime. Tyrion glances round the drab interrogation room. “Love the sub-prison theme you have going on here.”

The older officer, Morgan, narrows his eyes. “I’ve heard of you,” he says and turns his dark eyes to Jaime. “You called your  _accountant_?”

Jaime shrugs. “He was already on his way to the house and I knew he’d be pissed if I was gone when he got there.”

Tyrion rolls his eyes. “I’m also a lawyer,” he says.

“An entertainment lawyer, specializing in royalty agreements,” Morgan says drily.

Tyrion gives him a slight smile, his mismatched eyes thoughtful. “I’m flattered you’ve heard of me,” he says. “You are correct; but I  _am_  still a lawyer.” He glances at Jaime. “I hope you’ve kept your mouth shut until I got here,” he says.

Jaime is slouched back in his chair, wondering if this is just a very vivid hallucination caused by alcohol poisoning. “Not difficult to do, since I barely remember the last week.”

“You were heard arguing-loudly-with Pia Peckledon, also known as Jazz, in the penthouse suite by hotel staff,” the younger police officer, Karl, says. “We were told you wrecked the place during that argument.”

“Okay,” Jaime says, feeling helpless.

“Do you remember what you argued about?”

“I don’t remember wrecking the room, let alone the argument.”

Morgan’s eyes are shrewd. “What  _do_  you remember?”

Tyrion says, “I’d like to speak to my client alone before he answers that.”

Jaime rolls his eyes and waves Tyrion’s concerns away. “I’m going to say right now, I certainly don’t remember doing anything violent to the girl, and I know I didn’t kill her. We dropped her off at her house...” He pauses, his face scrunched in thought. “All right,” he mutters, rubbing his forehead, “today you took me in for questioning; yesterday, I met my squat—er—tenants; the night before was the orgy-”

“ _Orgy?_ ” Tyrion exclaims. “And you never called me?”

“Neither of you seem to appreciate the seriousness of this situation,” Morgan growls, and the thread of steel in his deep baritone voice immediately sobers the Lannister brothers.

“The night of the orgy was the night we dropped Jazz off at her house,” Jaime says. “And trust me, we  _do_  understand the seriousness of the situation.”

“It’s a coping mechanism,” Tyrion mutters and pulls out an antacid pill. “You going to drink that water, Jaime?”

Jaime shakes his head and Tyrion grabs it. He glances at the expressions on the faces of the two police officers and grins.

“Jaime will voluntarily give you a DNA sample,” he says as he plops the antacid pill into the water. “ _And_  his fingerprints  _and_  whatever else you may need.”

Karl’s eyes narrow. “You seem very confident your brother has nothing to hide.”

Tyrion barks a harsh laugh. “My brother has so many things he should hide…he just never has.” He gulps at the foaming concoction in the glass.

Karl’s expression is one of contemptuous disbelief. He turns to Jaime. “So, the night of the orgy...” he says.

“Yes,” Jaime says. “So, that’s the night before last, if I haven’t lost any more days. We had an argument in the car; she jumped out at one point and we coaxed her back in, and then we dropped her off at a house in the suburbs. We even made sure a light went on inside before we drove away.”

He shrugs at the cops’ blatant disbelief.

“Look, I’m an asshole, okay? I’m a rich and famous hedonistic rock star and that comes with a lot of perks, if you know what I mean. When I’m between girlfriends, I have no problem taking what’s being willingly offered and I barely remember their names or faces in the morning. I’m an asshole, but I’m not a jerk. I wasn’t going to just  _dump_  her somewhere without thinking it was a safe location for a woman, alone at night! It was very late by the time we dropped her off, and-”

He stops, suddenly stricken.

“Look what happened to her anyway.” He frowns. “What  _did_  happen to her? I mean...was she-?  _No_. I don’t really want to know.” He scrubs his hands over his face and groans.

“Look,” he says, “I learned that my ex-girlfriend-the-minute-I-ever-see-her-again emptied out my bank accounts and tried to sell off most of my assets. The revelation was...disheartening, to say the least. I decided to drown my sorrows on the relatively small sliver of credit she hadn’t managed to get to before I stumbled over what she was doing. That was...what day is it?”

“Monday,” Karl slowly drawls.

“Right. Monday. So I would have found out about Taena…last Monday?”

Tyrion nods.

Jaime continues, “Last Monday, I was in Sin City. Just finished up a month of shows at the Sunspear Water Gardens. Sunspear is a bad place to find out you’re broke; great place to drown your sorrows about it. Saturday-or, I suppose the early hours of Sunday morning—we dropped the girl-Jazz-at her place here in King’s Landing. In between...” He shrugs. “You know more than I do.”

“Do you remember when and where you met Jazz?”

Jaime scowls, thinking, then shakes his head. “Not for certain. The days blend together when you’re on a bender, you know.” He looks at the stoic faces of the two police officers. “Or maybe you don’t know.” He frowns, staring off into space. “I remember heading to the casino once I realized what Taena had done and started ordering drinks. And then...I remember...a bed. Voices. The bells and whistles of slot machines. The taste of really cheap booze. But the first clear memory I have is the back of the car, when we were arriving here, in King’s Landing.” He frowns. “Have you talked to Bronn? He might at least remember where we dropped the girl.”

“Bronn Stokeworth? Your chauffeur?”

“Only Bronn I know, I think.”

“We haven’t been able to track him down yet.”

Jaime frowns. “Well, he knew I was going to need a few days to recover. Maybe he took the chance for a little holiday. Gods, I hope he dropped off my clothes before he buggered off.”

*/*/*/*/*

The cops let him go with barely concealed contempt, and he and Tyrion find Addam waiting for them in the chaos of the squad room.

“It’s already out,” Addam says flatly.

“Gods,” Jaime groans as they head for the doors. “How long before the varysazzi get here?”

Addam gives him a pitying look and opens the door to a wall of noise, flashing lights, and microphones.

*/*/*/*/*

“Brienne!  _Brienne!_ ”

Brienne jumps a little as Nymeria bursts into her bedroom, interrupting Brienne’s review of the video from the night of the orgy.

“You’ve got to look outside!” Nymeria says, dark eyes wide.

Brienne scowls. “Why?”

“Because we’re being invaded!”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne stands with Nymeria and Nan, peeking discreetly out of an upper bedroom’s window.

“Gods,” Brienne mutters, “who knew there were so many bloody varysazzi in the city?”

“You really need to watch awards shows more often,” Nym replies.

They stand, watching the milling crowd.

“They don’t all work for trashy tabloids,” Brienne says. “Look: WNN; Direwolf News; WBC, and…is that Petyr Baelish’s PB Channel van down there?”

Nym and Nan peer closer.

“It is!” Nan says. “What’s a  _porn_  channel doing here?”

Nym says, “Well, Jaime Lannister’s leaked sex video is the most downloaded celebrity porn video on the PB Channel, but yeah. They’re a couple of days too late to film the party the other night.”

Nan rolls her eyes. “You and your orgies, Nymeria,” she sniffs.

“You should try it sometime, Nan, you might enjoy it.”

Nan glares and Brienne shushes them.

“Where  _is_  Jaime?” she says. “Maybe everyone’s here because they know he’s in residence.”

“I haven’t seen him all day,” Nym says.

“He left this morning with a couple of guys,” Nan says. “I don’t know if he’s home yet.”

Brienne frowns. “Well, it can’t be because of the video,” she mutters, “unless…” She slowly turns and stares with horror at Nymeria. “You didn’t tell anyone there were cameras planted everywhere, did you?”

Nymeria rolls her eyes. “How stupid do you think I am?”

Brienne breathes a sigh of relief. “Then I’m sure this isn’t because of us.”

They once again peer out from behind the curtains and Brienne sees a car, inching its way through the press of bodies. The photographers and videographers and those men and women clutching microphones and recorders swarm round the car like an army of ants trying to devour a piece of cake.

After a moment, the car’s doors that are closest to the mansion are forced open. A red-haired man gets out, and begins pushing his way through the crowd. He’s followed by a little person, and finally Jaime. They’re struggling to make their way through the crowd and to the mansion door when Brienne has a sudden thought.

She spins to Nan. “Is the door locked?”

“Of course.”

The three women stare at each other for a moment then break and run for the stairs.

*/*/*/*/*

The men’s faces are grim as they briefly explain to the women what had happened to cause the media of the world to descend on the mansion like a horde of locusts.

They’re in the lounge and Jaime’s sprawled bonelessly on the couch, a stiff drink in his hand.

“Are you sure you should be drinking that?” Brienne says with a disapproving nod.

Jaime gives her a disbelieving look, then slowly moves his gaze down her body then up again. He lazily turns to Tyrion.

“She doesn’t  _look_  like our mother.”

Brienne rolls her eyes. “I’m not being a tee-totaller,” she snaps. “It just seems that drinking is what got you into this mess in the first place.”

“Actually, Taena Merryweather cleaning out my bank account is what got me into this mess.”

Nymeria gasps. “You mean those rumors in the tabloids are true?”

Jaime shrugs. “Well, sooner or later they had to get something right.”

Brienne scowls, and opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Nymeria says, “Well, I think you should hire a private detective and do your own investigation.”

Brienne chokes and turns to her. “Nym. No.”

“Brienne. Yes.”

Jaime exchanges glances with Addam and Tyrion then looks at Brienne and drawls, “You’re not really a caterer, I take it.”

Brienne glares at Nymeria. “I  _am_  a caterer.”

Nymeria rolls her eyes. “And this is why you only ever get clients asking you to take dirty pictures.”

Jaime’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline then he turns to Addam and Tyrion. “Could I have some time alone with our resident…whatever the hell she is?”

Addam and Tyrion get to their feet. An unhappy Nan and Nymeria finally agree to go when Brienne rolls her eyes and nods at them.

“Tell me more about these dirty pictures,” she hears Tyrion say as the door closes behind them.

She stares at Jaime, who’s staring at her with his green eyes as cold and hard as glass.

“So,” he drawls, “you’re a private detective. Who just happens to be squatting in my house at the same time my lover absconds with all my money.”

Her eyes widen. “What?” she says blankly, then, “no, no, no! I don’t even know your—your lover! I  _am_  a caterer! I just also happen to be a private investigator...although I’m a pretty miserable failure at it. The only jobs I’ve been able to get are trailing cheating spouses in order to snap sordid pictures to be used in court.”

“And how did you end up here again?”

Brienne sighs. “It’s not like my catering business is doing all that well, either,” she mutters. “It’s tough finding clients for either business. And the rent went up again at our apartments and my business location, and we were desperate.”

“And just happened to land on using my house?”

She shrugs. “It was just sitting here, basically empty. Nobody was ever here, other than a yard maintenance company once a week and a maid service once a month.”

Jaime’s eyes narrow. “How would you know that?”

She rolls her eyes and gingerly perches on the edge of an armchair. “I’m a detective. I figured it out,” she says drily then shrugs. “And Nymeria told me there was a rumor on one of those online gossip sites that you were so rich, you owned a mansion you’d never even seen.” She gives him a half-smile. “Turns out the tabloids got two things right.”

Jaime’s expression softens and his mouth twitches towards a smile.

“All right,” he says.

Brienne makes to rise.

“Where are you going?”

“To get everybody else.”

He raises an eyebrow. “We’re not finished yet.”

She slowly sinks back into the chair.

“Are you a good detective?” he asks.

Brienne bristles, then remembers that he’s letting her live in his house rent free until she can find an apartment she can afford when he could have thrown her sorry ass in jail.

“Yes,” she says. “I’m competent, stubborn, and I won’t stop until I’ve done what I promised to do.”

“Good. I want you to find out who murdered Pia Peckledon. And reveal it publicly. Even  _my_  career won’t survive being a murder suspect for long.”

Brienne frowns in confusion then her jaw slowly drops. “I’ve never investigated a murder before!” she stammers.

“That’s all right; I’ve never been suspected of being a murderer before.” He smirks his trademark smirk and despite herself and the gravity of the situation, her knees quiver. “We’re in this together, Legs.”

She blinks. “ _Legs?_ ” she sputters. “This isn’t some film noir movie, Jaime! This isn’t  _fun_!”

Jaime leans forward, green eyes glittering. “Well, it’s definitely not fun for poor Pia—or rather, Jazz. But I’m more relaxed because I have an advantage over everybody else.”

Brienne’s almost afraid to ask. “What’s that?”

“I know I didn’t do it.” He grins and leans back. “I’m not naive enough to believe that just because I’m innocent means I’m in the clear and while those two cops seem decent, I’m not about to trust a couple of poorly paid flatfoots with my life and reputation.”

“So...you’ll trust a private investigator who’s never done more than snap dirty pictures for divorce cases?” she asks skeptically.

“You said it yourself: you’re stubborn and you always follow through on your promises.” Then he shrugs. “Besides, I can’t afford to hire anyone else at the moment—at least not until my next royalty cheque. You, at least, can do it for a free place to live for you and your friends.”

Brienne’s mouth drops again, and then her eyes narrow. “And if I find evidence that you did murder that poor girl?”

“If you can find evidence that proves beyond any doubt that I murdered that poor girl, then I’ll turn myself in.” He leans forward again, his eyes boring into hers. “But I  _didn’t_  do it.”

Brienne’s mesmerized, pinned to her chair by his intent stare. She gulps and says, “If—if I take the job, I’ll follow wherever the evidence leads, no matter where that is.”

His smile this time is slow and even sexier in person than it is in his music videos. “That’s all I ask,” he purrs.

*/*/*/*/*

Morgan and Karl stare at Brienne with expressionless faces.

“A private investigator,” Morgan finally says, his voice flat.

Brienne clears her throat and lifts her chin. “Yes,” she says firmly. “Mr. Lannister has asked me to look into the case on his behalf.”

“He doesn’t trust that we, respected members of the Gold Cloaks, can do our jobs?” Karl snaps.

“He hasn’t told me his opinion of the Gold Cloaks,” Brienne says briskly, “or given me his reasons for hiring an investigator. I am simply here to do a job.”

“Well, we’re not giving you access to the case file of an active investigation when you’re working for the main suspect!”

“I don’t expect you to, but you can at least give me some information.” She takes out a notebook and a pen and raises an eyebrow.

Morgan’s stoic expression softens slightly then he glances at Karl and shrugs.

“We’ll give you what we can,” Morgan says.

Brienne nods. “What happened to Ms Peckledon?”

“She was strangled. Judging from the bruises round her neck, some type of ligature was used—a ligature that was between one half to one inch wide.”

“Where was the body found?”

“In the living room of her apartment, in old King’s Landing.”

Brienne frowns. “Address?”

Morgan gives her the address, then says, “You won’t be allowed inside. Forensics is still combing through the place.”

“Who discovered the body?”

“Her roommate, Hildy Bracken, arrived home around ten a.m. and found her.”

Brienne nods as she scratches down the name. “Was Jazz killed in the apartment?”

“It looks that way,” Karl says, “but Forensics hasn’t confirmed it yet.”

“Time of death?”

“The coroner at the scene estimates it was between 3:00 and 5:00 a.m. on Sunday morning. That timeframe may change once the autopsy is completed.”

Brienne frowns as she makes a note. “What do you know of Jazz’s movements before that?” she says.

Karl smirks. “You say you’re a detective; go find out for yourself.”

*/*/*/*/*

“You  _hired_  her?” Tyrion says flatly. “Really.”

Jaime shrugs. He’s sprawled on a couch in the lounge of his mansion. “Do you want to leave it all up to the Gold Cloaks?”

“The Gold Cloaks are actually trained to do this sort of thing. If there’s no evidence to link you to the crime…”

Jaime rolls his eyes. “Are you really that naïve?”

Tyrion grimaces. “No.” He glances at Addam. “Are promoters cancelling gigs already?”

Addam shrugs. “More like sending cautious warnings that plans may fall through for ‘reasons’. They’re not  _saying_  it’s because Jaime is a person of interest in a murder investigation, but…”

“Well, you can’t blame them,” Jaime mutters, “if for no other reason than I might be in jail by the time the concert dates rolls round.”

“They’re idiots,” Tyrion growls. “Every venue you’re booked at for the next four months is sold out.”

Jaime rolls his eyes. “That’s not hard when the venues only hold a few thousand people.”

Tyrion strolls to the bar and starts mixing drinks. “You hated playing those huge venues,” he says.

Jaime grimaces. “I still do.”

“And you don’t really miss your Kingslayer days, do you?” Addam says.

Jaime winces. “It was such a stupid nickname,” he mutters, “and Robert Baratheon’s the King of Rock and Roll now. Why isn’t  _he_  called the Kingslayer?”

Addam snorts and accepts a glass from Tyrion. “Because he wasn’t the young and overly-handsome rocker who knocked Aerys Targaryen off the charts for the first time in decades.”

“I burned bright,” Jaime mutters, joining them at the bar, “and burned out fast.”

“Oh, gods,” Tyrion groans, “don’t start that shit again! You’ve been in the spotlight for fifteen years! Your royalty cheques are more than the income of some of the Free Cities! The public loves you and your antics more than they love the royal family!”

Jaime rubs his hands over his face. “And I haven’t had a new album in five years, and I haven’t had a record label for longer than that.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Mine. I know.” Jaime slumps over the bar. “I’m just sick of singing the same old songs.”

“Well, you can change that, too,” Tyrion says.

“Assuming, of course, I can stay out of jail.”

“Well,” Addam says, “if you’re bored with music, I did receive a call asking if you’d be interested in doing a movie.”

Jaime scowls. “A movie?” He brightens. “You mean do the soundtrack?”

“No, no—they wondered if you’d be interested in acting.”

“Acting? I’m no actor!”

“As proven in your music videos,” Tyrion mutters and Jaime rolls his eyes.

“My  _award-winning_  music videos,” he says.

“It’s just a small, independent film,” Addam says. “All they’re offering is a percentage of the profits on the back-end…if there are any profits, of course. But I know the screenwriter. Podrick Payne. Nice kid. There’s a short cameo role in the script, so that’s probably the part he has in mind for you.” Addam shrugs. “If you’re looking for something different…”

Jaime rolls his eyes.

“I’ll give you the script,” Addam says, resigned. “That way I can at least tell the kid you’re looking at it, and let him down easy.”

“I just have a few other things on my mind,” Jaime says drily.

“Well, you’re not arrested yet,” Tyrion says briskly, “and your former record label isn’t willing to advance your next royalty payment now that this scandal has hit the news.”

“It’s not a  _scandal_ , Tyrion,” Jaime mutters. “A girl was murdered. A real girl.”

Tyrion looks shame-faced for a moment. “I know,” he mutters. “Does she have a family, do you know?”

“I barely remember her,” Jaime sighs. “I’m sure the news and the tabloids will have all the details of her life and family.”

“And you don’t want to read those stories?”

“Have either of you read them?”

Tyrion and Addam exchange a glance.

“A few,” Addam says, “but the stories I’ve read didn’t have much about her, yet. They’ve all been salivating over the fact you’ve been named a person of interest in a murder case.”

Jaime sighs. “Poor girl,” he says. He shakes his head. “She asked if I believed in soul mates,” he mutters, “and now it’s too late for her to find one.” He glances at his friends, and says, “Remember: we’re assholes, but we’re not jerks. Let’s not forget that Jazz Peckledon was a real person. Any statement we make to the media needs to keep her front and centre. What happened to her shouldn’t be overshadowed by my celebrity.”

Tyrion snorts. “Good luck with that,” he mutters.

“The media will do what the media does,” Jaime says. “This is what  _we’re_  going to do.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne inches her way through the varysazzi who are now camped out on the edges of the property rather than on the mansion’s doorstep. The security personnel guarding the driveway glance in her window and wave her through.

She bursts into the mansion, calling for Nan and Nymeria.

The men also come out of the lounge as Nan and Nymeria meet her in the foyer.

“What are you so excited about?” Nymeria says.

Brienne glances round at everyone and gives them a grim smile. “I need everybody’s eyes.” She turns to Nymeria. “Go get all the USB sticks from the night of the orgy. They’re in my bedroom.” Tyrion perks up and Brienne rolls her eyes. “Don’t get too excited,” she orders, “we’re looking for your brother.”

Tyrion scrunches up his face. “Ew.”

“The estimated time of death is between three and five on Sunday morning. Nym had cameras everywhere in this house, thanks to the case we’re working. We need to find any footage we can of Jaime, and see what time he arrived here—and whether he left again.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne gives up trying to keep Nymeria and Tyrion appropriately focused as they fast forward through the footage. Brienne gives Jaime a scandalized look as the two begin whooping and making comments about the performance of a couple in one of the bedrooms.

Jaime shrugs. “Did you really think I was the only one in the family like this?” he murmurs to her.

“I was hoping,” she mutters.

“Ah, sweet summer child…”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, then returns her attention to her own computer.

“Ah,” she says, leaning closer.

Jaime scoots next to her and peers at the computer screen, his head bent close to hers.

They watch in silence as the long black limousine pulls up to the front door and Jaime and Bronn get out, speak to each other, and then Bronn drives away.

Brienne stops the video and looks at the timestamp.

“Bingo,” she says. “Two-thirty in the morning.”

“Too close to three for comfort,” Jaime mutters.

“But should be enough for reasonable doubt, especially if we can prove you didn’t leave again.”

“And assuming the clock in the camera is accurate.”

Brienne blinks at him. “That, too.”

*/*/*/*/*

To Brienne’s relief, Jaime’s time at the party is innocuous: he arrived, wandered through the crowd—most of whom were too… _involved_  in other activities to notice that  _The Jaime Lannister_  was in the room—then headed upstairs. He opened doors until he found an empty bedroom and disappeared inside for the rest of the night, which was also captured on video.

“Getting old, big brother,” Tyrion says.

“Hey! You can’t blame me for being too pooped to pop! I’d been on a bender for days, after all!”

“I know. You were incoherent every time we talked.”

Jaime frowns. “We talked?”

Tyrion rolls his eyes. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You were pretty out of it.”

“If you knew he was in such bad shape, why didn’t you go down to Sunspear and get him?” Brienne asks.

“Oh, wipe that disapproving scowl off your face,” Tyrion says. “We couldn’t  _find_  the bastard.”

Jaime frowns. “Bronn—”

“You ditched Bronn almost immediately.” Tyrion pauses, frowning. “Those cops said you were holed up in the penthouse suite for four days with Jazz Peckledon…but that can’t be quite accurate. The hotel swore you weren’t there; Bronn went to the suite and it was empty except for empty liquor bottles strewn round the place.”

“Were there drugs involved?” Nymeria asks.

“Well, that might explain the complete blackout,” Jaime says, “but if there were, it wouldn’t be by my conscious choice. Alcohol is my preference; I’ve always avoided everything else.”

The three women raise skeptical eyebrows.

Jaime laughs. “Look, even at seventeen, when I first hit it big, I knew that starting down that road would destroy me before I even got started. I like to party, I like to drink, but I’m not an alcoholic. Ask anybody I’ve ever worked with: a bender of this magnitude is rare, despite what the tabloids and gossip sites would have you believe.”

“You mean you’re not as wild as people think you are?” Nymeria says, disappointed.

Jaime shrugs. “People believe what they want to believe.” His sudden grin is wicked. “And they’re not  _completely_  wrong.”

Brienne rolls her eyes. “While this is fascinating,” she says primly, “we need to get this footage to the Gold Cloaks.”

Jaime nods and turns his wicked grin on her. “Look at you,” he says. “Your first murder investigation, and you’ve cleared me in less than a day.”

“But I haven’t solved the murder,” she says, “and that’s what I promised to do.”

She flushes as everyone looks at her in disbelief.

“I take my promises seriously,” she mutters, and looks away.

*/*/*/*/*

Morgan and Karl are skeptical, and it takes a lot of explaining before they let the subject go. Brienne suspects it was Nymeria’s not-so-subtle flirting with Karl that helped to sell that man on the truth of the story. Morgan and Nan seem to be eyeing each other with a similar degree of interest.

Brienne hides a sigh then tells herself that at least they get things done.

*/*/*/*/*

The Chief of the Gold Cloaks makes a public statement the next day, clearing Jaime Lannister as a suspect in the murder of Pia ‘Jazz’ Peckledon. Brienne and Nymeria find the money shot they needed for their previous client, and Brienne delivers the snippet of video and takes her payment with a feeling of relieved distaste.

Jaime holds an impromptu press conference with the varysazzi and reporters still camped across from his house, and publicly names Brienne Tarth as the private investigator who discovered the evidence that cleared him of suspicion. He carefully doesn’t mention it was because Nymeria was recording a party-turned-orgy. There really were a lot of rich and powerful people there that night, some of whom would be extremely unhappy to learn there may be incriminating video of their activities.

Brienne misses the press conference; she has a catering job and she and Nan are in the kitchen, and then at the party, serving the food. It’s late when they finally return to the mansion and she gratefully crawls into bed to sleep.

*/*/*/*/*

“Brienne.”

Brienne grunts and pulls the blankets over her head.

“Brienne!”

“Nym,” she mumbles without emerging from her comfortable cocoon, “the house better be on fire.”

“Better than that. We have an appointment this morning with a potential client. Lyanna Baratheon’s diamond necklace was stolen a few days ago and she wants to hire you to find out who did it.”

Brienne flips the blanket down and blinks blearily at her friend. “Lyanna Baratheon? How does she even know me?”

Nymeria rolls her eyes. “You really need to understand the power of celebrity,” she says. “Jaime named you as the person who cleared him. The phone’s been ringing non-stop ever since.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime looks up as Brienne walks into the living room that evening.

“Busy woman,” he says with a lazy smile.

Brienne nods. “I…we have three new clients and appointments later this week with several other potential clients.” She looks at him with dazed, really quite lovely eyes. “Why did you mention my name in your news conference?”

Jaime shrugs. “I try to give credit where credit is due, Legs. You cleared me as a suspect, even if it was sheer luck that Nymeria was here and recording that party.” He stands and strolls to the door. “Still. Luck or not, I owed you one…and a Lannister always pays his debts.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne walks in the front door to the sound of mournful piano music drifting from what they now call the Music Room.  It’s across the hall from the living room Jaime had been sitting in when Brienne first met him and it had already been furnished with the baby grand piano he’s currently playing.

She pauses to listen.

The music is beautiful and pours from his fingers the way feather-light pastry pours from Nan’s, or the way flirting words pour from Nymeria’s mouth when she’s charming someone into her bed.

Brienne pauses on the threshold and watches him.

Jaime’s playing with his eyes closed, swaying as his fingers move, grief contorting his handsome features.  The song is already familiar; he’s been working on it along with several others for the last two weeks, ever since Brienne cleared his name, and he allowed them to stay in the mansion as he promised.  The varysazzi still hiding in the trees around the house are sometimes tough to take, but they’ve decided to, thankfully, ignore her.  Few actually realize she’s the private investigator responsible for clearing Jaime Lannister’s name and saving his reputation...such as it is.

Well.  At least when it comes to how his reputation is portrayed in the sensation-hungry tabloids.  To Nymeria’s never-ending disappointment, there have been no mansion-shaking parties, no scandalous sexcapades with groupies, underage or otherwise.  No drugs.  Almost no rock-and-roll.  He’s done some shows and more concert dates are pouring in—back to normal, Addam assures her—but everyone, it seems, is watching him as if they’re waiting for a dam to break.

Jaime opens his eyes and stares unseeingly at Brienne before she seems to register on his consciousness.  He stops playing and lifts an eyebrow in question.

They’re not exactly friends, but they have come to a comfortable understanding with each other, which is why she’s hesitating about what she needs to do now.

His eyebrow creeps higher as she stares at him in silence.

“I need you to go to a party,” she blurts.

It takes a moment for her words to sink in, then he smirks.

“Any party in particular,” he drawls, “or are we just going to knock on doors until we find one?”

Brienne sighs and walks into the room.  “I have a client.  Olenna Tyrell.”

Jaime lets out a low whistle.  “Of the Highgarden Tyrells?  The second richest family in the world?”

She nods as she sinks down on an ottoman close to the piano.  “Somebody’s been threatening to kidnap her granddaughter, and to do it right in front of everybody at this party.  She wants me to see what I can discover.”

Jaime stares at her for a long, silent moment, his face expressionless.

“Well,” he finally drawls, “besides the fact that’s the _stupidest_ thing I’ve ever heard a criminal do, what does she need you for?  She has a security team right out of the movies, for the gods’ sake!”  He stops and blinks.  “Oh, wait...”

Brienne nods.  “Exactly.  She thinks it’s most likely an inside job, so she wants to bring in a ringer.  Not even her granddaughter will know why we’re there.”

“And just how am I going to help you with this?  And why would I want to in the first place?”

“Because you owe me—”

“I’m giving you a place to live rent free!”

Brienne waves his words away.  “What have you done for me lately?  A girl still has to eat!”

“I’m paying for all the food in this place, too!”

“A girl has to have her own spending money, then.”

“I’m the one who recommended you to the world at a press conference so you could make your own spending money!”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “Look, all I need is for you to escort me to the party, glue yourself to Margaery Tyrell’s side, and while you’re being the centre of attention, I’ll fade away and do some scouting.”

“You can’t just go by yourself?”

“If I go by myself, I’ll stick out like a sore thumb!”

His eyes narrow.  “This isn’t a swinger’s party, is it?”

“A swing—no!  At least…I don’t think so.  But it is an extremely formal thing where people are expected to have an escort.  Or so Olenna tells me.”  Brienne scowls. “I need a partner.”

“Take Nymeria.”

“Oh gods—and let her loose on a crowd of unsuspecting, filthy rich and probably horny people?  It may not start out a swingers’ party, but it’ll end up that way in less than an hour if Nym has her way!”

“She does liven things up,” Jaime says with a grin.  “Where is she, anyway?  I actually didn’t have to drag the dresser in front of my door last night.”

“Sunning herself on the beaches of Lys,” Brienne mutters, her expression sour.

Jaime shrugs and turns his attention back to the piano.  “Well, not my problem if you can’t rely on your business partner.”

“I _can_ rely on her!  When she’s here.  Now, are you going to go with me?”

Jaime shakes his head, his hands moving effortlessly over the piano keys.  “Nope.  I’m writing, in case you didn’t notice, and I have better things to do with my time than escort you to some boring as fuck party!”

*/*/*/*/*

Even with a pout marring his features, Jaime looks devastatingly handsome in his tux as he sits beside Brienne in the back of the rented limo.

Brienne rolls her eyes at Jaime’s sulking and raises the privacy shield between them and the limo company’s driver.

“Okay,” Brienne says briskly as Jaime pointedly stares out the window.  He sniffs and refuses to turn his head.

“You are such a child,” she mutters, and she sees his mouth curve up in a smirk.

She shakes her head then nervously plucks at the far-too-frumpy dress that is the closest thing she has to a formal party gown in her meagre closet.  She clears her throat and says, “Okay, look:  if anyone asks, I’m your distant cousin from out of town.”

That gets him to finally look at her, his eyebrow raised.  “Not my date?”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “I’m a bit below your usual standard—at least if you’re sober.  We want people to find it feasible that we would be at this party together.”

“So, we’re related.  Are we related through my mother’s side, or my father’s?”

Brienne frowns.  “It doesn’t matter.”

“Third cousin twice removed from tiny little Butthurt, half-a-mile north of the Wall, population twenty-seven-and-a-half?”

“Jaime...”

“Here for your first visit to the Big City and I’m showing you what it’s like to live with electricity and running water and television sets?”

Brienne huffs, fighting the urge to laugh.     “Whatever helps you play the part,” she says.

“Aw, come on, Brienne!  At least make the backstory interesting!  Otherwise, I’m going to get drunk while you’re off doing...whatever it is you’re going to be doing, and start spilling my guts to whichever nubile young woman is closest to me.”

“I think that’s how you got into trouble the last time,” Brienne says drily, then winces. 

Pia ‘Jazz’ Peckledon’s case is still unsolved and, to Morgan and Karl’s sour disappointment, is already considered a cold case by the Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks.  To make matters worse, Bronn Stokeworth hasn’t been seen since the night of the murder and is now considered the prime suspect, something Jaime vehemently refuses to accept.

Jaime’s half-smile is instantly wiped away.  “Yeah.  You’re right,” he mutters and turns to stare out the window.

*/*/*/*/*

She’s too precious, Jaime thinks as he watches Brienne discreetly gawking at the infamous Tyrell mansion.  The place is even more opulent than his own mansion but much more tasteful.  Which is only to be expected, of course; the Tyrells are positively ancient when it comes to family money.

The current matriarch, Olenna Tyrell, is in the receiving line, greeting guests.  She looks almost as ancient as her family name, but her eyes are as sharp as her tongue is reputed to be.  Her granddaughter, Margaery, stands beside her, a lovely, doe-eyed young woman, but Jaime sees the same sharp intelligence lurking in her deceptively soft eyes and gentle smile.  Margaery’s smile becomes flirtatious when she recognizes him and she barely spares Brienne a glance.

“Brienne Tarth,” Jaime hears Brienne saying as she introduces herself to Margaery.  “I’m Jaime’s—”

“Date,” he says loudly, startling everyone around them.  Brienne turns and glares.  “Reluctant date,” he concedes with a charming smile at Margaery.  He leans closer.  “She much prefers ‘friend with benefits’,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper.

He watches with almost unholy amusement as Brienne abruptly turns a bright, glowing red. 

“I am not your date!” she growls through tightly gritted teeth.

“We’re attending the same function together, and we’re not related.  Close enough to a date to count.”

“Does this mean you’re taken again?” Margaery says, with a charming pout.  “Already?”

“No!” Brienne bursts out.  “And if you’re not careful, Jaime, I’ll make sure you don’t appear in public again for weeks!”

Jaime’s smile is wicked.  “Promises, promises.”

Brienne turns an even brighter red before she mumbles what might be an apology at Margaery and storms away.

Margaery turns an interested face towards Jaime.  “It appears you’re now dateless for the evening.”

Jaime gives her his most charming smile.  “It appears so.”

Margaery slips an arm through his and gives him a smug smile as she pulls him to her side.

Jaime glances round and catches a glimpse of Brienne’s broad back as she makes her way through the crowd.  He hopes she’s bright enough to use this as an excuse in order to slip from the room.  If she’s _really_ bright, she’ll squeeze a tear or two out of her beautiful eyes to distract whoever may stumble upon her once she’s outside the ballroom.

He turns back to Margaery and joins her in welcoming the next set of guests.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne doesn’t know if she’s pleased Jaime has attached himself to Margaery or not.  She did tell him to find a way to glue himself to her side and to be a distraction.  If nothing else, his constant presence beside the young woman should deter whoever is threatening the girl from trying anything…if they are even truly planning on doing anything at all.  Threatening to kidnap someone from a party is a pretty strange—and Jaime’s right— _stupid_ thing to do.  She suspects it’s all an elaborate but harmless prank.

Still, she was hired to do a job and she intends to do it to the best of her abilities.

She sips at her glass of champagne, makes polite small talk with those in her vicinity, edges round the room and finally slips through one of the ballroom doors and heads to the back of the house.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne isn’t quite sure what she’s looking for, but Olenna had asked her to scout through the house.  She glides from room to room, does a cursory search of all the servants’ rooms, including the rooms of Olenna’s two bodyguards:  Erryk and Arryk Redwyne.  This is the security team Jaime said is right out of the movies and he’s right.  They’re identical twins, with red hair and mustaches, even taller than Brienne, muscular, handsome—and busy in the ballroom with all the guests.

Brienne quickly rifles through their nightstands and closets, and finds a backpack of clothes on the bed of one, along with a plane ticket for that night to an ultra-expensive beach resort in Myr in the name of Arryk Redwyne.  Brienne frowns, because thanks to Nymeria, she knows that particular resort.  It caters exclusively to couples, and extremely _rich_ couples at that.

She’s speeding back to the ballroom when she hears a familiar masculine voice in one of the rooms she’s passing, followed by a light, feminine laugh.  Brienne grimaces and continues on, then pauses as she’s struck with an evil thought.

Turnabout is fair play, after all. 

She tiptoes to the half-open door and peeks through.

Jaime is looking devastatingly handsome and Brienne admits the man knows how to wear a tux.  His hair is gleaming gold in the dim lamplight and his smile is almost fondly teasing as he looks down at Margaery, who’s standing close, her palms flat on his broad chest as she smiles coyly up at him.

“I’m sure I won’t do your reputation any good,” Jaime is saying as he puts his hands over hers.

Margaery chuckles.  “I’m not interested in anything more than a bit of fun,” she purrs.

Jaime’s smile falters.

“I’ve had far too much fun lately,” Jaime says soberly, and Brienne knows he’s once again thinking of Jazz Peckledon.  “Besides, I also arrived at this party with a date.”

“Who’s disappeared.  She probably went home.”  Margaery frowns.  “I’m not sure why Grandmother invited her; she was obviously out of place.  That horrible _dress_ …”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “She hasn’t had much time to shop for high-end gowns,” he says drily.

“Well, who cares, really?  She’s abandoned you to your fate,” Margaery says and leans closer, lifting her mouth towards his.  “Finders keepers…”

_That’s my cue_ , Brienne thinks almost gleefully, and bursts into the room, shouting, _“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”_

The pair jump apart as guiltily as if she really _was_ Jaime’s date.

After the immediate chaos, they stare at each other in frozen silence, then Jaime groans, putting a hand to his heart.  “Gods!  You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Margaery is glaring.  “What are you doing in this part of the house?” she snaps.

“I went for a walk, away from the crowd.  Imagine my surprise to find you here with my ‘date’.”

Jaime smirks.  “I take it you’re ready to leave?”

Brienne gives him a haughty glare.  “We should say our farewells to our hostess.”

Jaime steps closer to Margaery and Brienne rolls her eyes.

“I _meant_ Olenna.”

Jaime’s grin can only be described as shit-eating.

_“What’s going on here?”_

Brienne turns to see one of the Redwyne twins in the doorway, looking thunderous.  His look turns murderous when he sees how close Jaime is to Margaery.

“Arryk,” Margaery says, taking a quick step towards him, “this isn’t what you think!”

“No?” Arryk growls as he pushes past Brienne, rushes to the couple and punches Jaime in the face before anyone realizes what he intends to do.

Margaery screams as Jaime stumbles back and Brienne grabs Arryk’s arm before he can land another punch.

Arryk reflexively swings at Brienne but she dodges the blow.

“Watch it!” she yells while Margaery screams at him to stop.

Arryk stops and glares at her.  “Good gods, you’re a woman!”

She rolls her eyes.  “How observant,” she says drily.  “I can see why you work security.”

His eyes narrow and he takes a threatening step towards her.

Brienne glares then blinks as Jaime is suddenly in front of her, staring the bodyguard down.

“Can’t we all talk calmly and rationally?” Jaime growls.

“I don’t think that tone’s going to help,” Brienne mutters.

Arryk draws back his fist, and Margaery leaps in front of Jaime.

“Arryk!  No!  Let’s talk about this!”

“That’s Jaime fucking Lannister,” Arryk growls.  “He never ‘just talks’ about anything!”

“Don’t believe everything you read,” Jaime says.  “I talk all the time.”

“It’s true,” Brienne says, leaning round Jaime’s broad shoulders to glare at Arryk.  “He never shuts up.  Trust me.”

Jaime glances at her over his shoulder, and only then does she realize how close they are. 

“Thanks,” he says drily.

She flushes.  “Anytime.”

Arryk turns his glare on Margaery.  “What were you doing in here with him?  I thought—” he abruptly stops talking.

“Ah,” Brienne says.  “You and Margaery?”

Margaery glances, shame-faced, over her shoulder at them and shrugs.

Jaime heaves a mock-sigh.  “And here I thought we had a real connection.”

“You’re Jaime fucking Lannister.  You think I was going to pass up _that_ chance?”  She glances at Arryk and shrugs.  “Sorry, babe.”

Brienne frowns.  “Were the two of you planning on leaving town tonight?”

Margaery turns and gives her a puzzled look.  “Yes.  We’re going to Myr for a little vacation.”

“Without your grandmother’s knowledge?”

“I haven’t told her, no, but she doesn’t keep tabs on me,” she says.  Now it’s Margaery’s turn to frown.  “Why do you care?  And how did you know?”

Brienne turns a suspicious face to Arryk, who’s watching her with cold, glittering eyes.  She says, “Were you planning on leaving the ransom note tonight, or do you have an accomplice who was going to manage that part here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says coldly.

“It’s pretty stupid to threaten to kidnap the girl beforehand,” Jaime says slowly, rubbing his jaw.

“Kidnap?” Margaery blurts.

“Threaten?” Arryk says.

Jaime and Brienne exchange a puzzled glance.

“Who else knew what you were planning?” Brienne slowly asks.

“You mean the trip to Myr?” Margaery asks, confused.

“No, I mean Arryk’s real plan, which was to take you to Myr, then probably take you somewhere off the resort for a ‘romantic getaway’, while telling your grandmother you were kidnapped so he could extort a ransom from her.”

Arryk’s gaze is unblinking.  “You’re insane,” he spits.  “Why would I do that?”

“Greed?” Jaime says lightly.  “It can’t be easy being bodyguard to a cantankerous old woman.”

“I resent that description, even if I do resemble it.”

They all turn to the door to see Olenna Tyrell, looking regal, with Arryk’s twin standing behind her.

Margaery gives Arryk a betrayed stare.  “Is it true?  You were planning on pretending I was kidnapped?”

Arryk looks everywhere but at her.

“It is true,” she breathes, her shoulders slumping.

“It might have actually worked,” Olenna says, “but why would you send those threats about kidnapping her from this very party?”

Margaery turns a surprised face to her then glares at Arryk.

“I didn’t do that!” he says.

“No, I did,” Erryk says and his twin glares.

“You sold me out?” Arryk growls.

Erryk sighs and turns to the others.  “Arryk told me what he was planning, and nothing I said was changing his mind.  I was hoping that if Mrs. Tyrell received threats, she would ask _us_ to help her, and that would stop this harebrained plan of my brother’s and,” he spins to glare at Arryk, “we could keep our bloody jobs!”

“Well, you can’t fault a man for trying,” Arryk mutters.  “We could have both retired,”

“Because that wouldn’t be suspicious at all,” Jaime says drily.  Arryk takes a threatening step forward, but he’s stopped by his brother.

Olenna tsks loudly and says, “As enlightening as this has been, I don’t know if I’m more annoyed to be missing my own party, or that I missed seeing Jaime fucking Lannister get punched.”  She smiles a thin smile then turns to Brienne.  “Thank you, Ms Tarth.  You have been most helpful.  Now, it appears, this is a family matter, so I will bid you good-night.  A cheque will be sent to you shortly.”

Brienne blinks and Jaime scowls, and opens his mouth, but Olenna forestalls him.

“These two idiots are my distant cousins,” she says drily.  “I’m unfortunately rather fond of their mother.  I trust I can count on your discretion in this matter?”

“Of course,” Brienne says, then grabs Jaime by the arm and drags him from the room.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne stands at the kitchen counter, making roast beef sandwiches.  Jaime sits at the table, an ice pack pressed to his jaw.

“You better hope that maniac didn’t permanently damage this face,” Jaime mutters.

“Oh, please,” Brienne sighs.  “You’ve been whining for an hour!”

“Hey!” Jaime says, pointing a finger at his face.  “This is my money-maker!  And I need to make as much money as I can to make up for what Taena managed to steal out from under me.”

Brienne snorts as she carries the plates to the table.  She’s still in her frumpy dress but she’s kicked off her shoes.  Jaime’s in his tuxedo, minus the jacket and tie, and she covertly admires the breadth of his shoulders in his white dress shirt.

“What?” Jaime demands as she puts one plate in front of him and she sits at the table next to him.  “What’s that snort mean?”

“It’s not your face that’s your money-maker,” she says, rolling her eyes.  “It’s your talent! Your voice and songs and stage presence.”

Jaime blinks.  “Be careful, there, Legs, or I’m going to think you might be a fan.”

Brienne blushes then shrugs and picks up her sandwich.  “I’m a woman who’s around your age.  Of course I had posters of you in my bedroom!  You were _the_ rock star of our generation.”

She takes a bite and smiles at him as she chews.

“Robert Baratheon would beg to differ with you on that,” Jaime says drily, putting down the ice pack and picking up his sandwich.  The left side of his face is bruised and swollen.

Brienne shrugs.  “Robert Baratheon’s good, I’ll admit, but he’s really let himself go these last few years.”  She takes another bite of her sandwich.

“It happens,” Jaime mutters, taking a careful bite of his own sandwich, wincing at the pain in his jaw.

Brienne says, “Are you going to do that movie Addam told you about?”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “How did you know about that?”

“I am a private investigator, Jaime.”

Jaime rolls his eyes and she grins.

“I saw the script in the living room the other day, with Addam’s post-it note.”

“Yeah?” he says, watching her with a raised eyebrow.

She nods.  “I read the script.  It’s a fun little story.  Quirky, unpredictable, funny.  I think you should do it.”

He chuckles.  “I’m no actor.”

“You did a pretty good job in your music videos.  Besides, you’d be playing a rock star in a cameo role that lasts about fifteen seconds.  It’s not like you’re actually acting.”  She shrugs.  “You might enjoy it.”

He’s silent as he stares at her.  She glances at him and frowns at the strange look in his eyes.

He blinks then smirks as he carefully reaches out and uses his thumb to wipe the corner of her mouth.

“Mustard,” he says softly before he licks his thumb clean.  “You think I should do this movie, huh?”

She blinks, taken aback at how the brush of his thumb seemed to burn her skin.

She swallows, and manages, “Yeah.”

He slowly grins.  “Okay,” he says, “I will.”

*/*/*/*/*

“That’s quite the shiner,” Tyrion says with an expert air.

“The bruise is on my jaw,” Jaime says.  “I’m pretty sure shiners are when you’ve been punched in the eye.”

Tyrion airily waves Jaime’s words away as he leads the way into the drawing room.  “Whatever,” Tyrion says and throws himself on a couch with a loud groan.

“Oh, gods,” Jaime sighs.  “It’s never good news when you’re being overly dramatic.”

“The tabloids and social media are all over your date last night.”

“Date.  Date?”

“The not-quite-lovely-but-definitely-unforgettable Brienne Tarth.  At Olenna Tyrell’s annual charity benefit?  I hope you didn’t donate anything more than your charm and wit.”

Jaime gingerly touches the tender bruise on his jaw.  “Only my pride,” he says ruefully.

“Gods, don’t tell me you made a move on Brienne!”

“No,” Jaime says, but it had been a close thing.  He couldn’t really say why, though.  She’s definitely not beautiful, and he suspects she’s about as adventurous in bed as his old septa—although he’s heard one never knew with septas.  But last night, sitting at the kitchen table, he’d looked at her and...

Mayhaps it’s the eyes, he thinks.  Beautifully blue, calm and guileless, and she’d looked at him like she was seeing him.  Him, and not _The Jaime Lannister_.  Which is stupid, of course.  The woman barely knows him.

Only...

There are so few people who look at him like that, without any apparent agenda.  Tyrion.  Addam.  Bronn...when he’s around.

Which reminds him.

“Have you heard from Bronn?”

Tyrion shakes his head and Jaime frowns.

“This is the longest he’s gone without getting in touch somehow,” Jaime mutters.

“Well, you have your very own private eye living in your house.  You could send her sniffing round.”

“Bronn would not appreciate that...I’ll do it.”

Tyrion snickers.

“So, is social media really taking the piss out of me for dating Brienne?” Jaime asks as he strolls back to the couches with drinks in his hands.

Tyrion snorts.  “Taking the piss out of Brienne, you mean,” he says drily as he takes the glass Jaime is holding out. He eyes the milky concoction with a jaundiced eye.  “Just for the record:  I still—and will forever—resent the fact working for you means I can no longer get drunk before noon.”

“You’re the one who worries too much,” Jaime says with a shrug and sits on the opposite couch.  “But you haven’t come here simply to tell me social media is being as cruel as always.”

“Well, any publicity is good publicity.”  Tyrion sips his drink and grimaces, then says, “Is it true you told Addam you’d take the part in that movie?”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “Is Addam in the habit of lying to you?”

“Trust no one, Jaime.  You should know that by now.”

“Ah.  So you’re the one who stole my money?”

“Absolutely—one percentage point at a time.”

Jaime snickers into his drink and says, “Yeah, I’m going to do the movie.  Addam’s on his way over once he gets past the shock.”

“What made you change your mind?”

Jaime shrugs.  “It’s a fifteen second cameo, and I haven’t been in front of a camera since my last music video which is what?  Five years ago?  More?  Besides, Brienne says the script is good.”

The silence that greets his words is deafening.

He glances up to find Tyrion watching him with a thoughtful expression.

“What?”

Tyrion slowly shakes his head.  “Nothing,” he says but Jaime sees him hide a smile behind his glass.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne arrives the same time as Addam.  They gather in the drawing room and Jaime plays host while fending off Addam’s teasing questions about his bruised face.

“It was Brienne’s fault,” Jaime says, trying to look as plaintive and vulnerable as possible.

Brienne snorts. “You were making a move on another man’s girl,” she says.

“Which he wasn’t supposed to see,” he mutters.

Addam and Tyrion exchange a glance then laugh.  “Well, glad to know you’re still the same old Jaime,” Addam says.

Jaime shrugs.  “Did you talk to the scriptwriter?”

“Podrick Payne?  Yeah.  He’s over the moon you’ve agreed to do the movie.”

Brienne’s head snaps round to look at him and Jaime blinks as her beaming smile lights up the room.

“You’re going to do it?” she says.

Jaime shrugs.  “I told you I would.  Besides, a cameo won’t take much time.”

“Yeah...” Addam says, “about that...”

Jaime’s eyes narrow.  “What about ‘that’?”

Addam shifts uncomfortably and says, “There was a bit of a misunderstanding in my original conversation with Pod.”

Jaime’s eyes narrow even more.  “Oh?”

“Yeah...he wants you for the lead.”

“Lead!  _Lead!_   I can’t act!”

Brienne looks startled then thoughtful.  “Oh,” she says softly, “I can see it.”

Jaime glares at her.  “Are you insane? I just said I can’t act!”

Tyrion snorts.  “You’re a better actor than you’ll admit,” he says drily.  “You wouldn’t have survived this long in the celebrity spotlight if you weren’t.”

“And you can take lessons,” Brienne says helpfully.

“Besides, it’s a low-budget, straight-to-video kind of movie.  Nobody’s going to see it,” Addam says.  “Hell, he can’t even afford to pay you!  He’s offering you ten percent on the back-end, which means you’ll be working for free.”

“Perfect for learning how to act,” Tyrion says.

Jaime pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes.  “You’re all idiots,” he mutters, “and you’ll be the ones reimbursing this poor kid when I ruin his movie.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime glares at Brienne after the others leave.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” he growls.

Brienne blinks.  “Wait a minute!  All I said was I liked the script!”

He sniffs.  “There you go again, you sweet talker you,” he mutters and is rewarded with her laugh.

*/*/*/*/*

The next couple of weeks pass in a blur—and thankfully...or unfortunately—the blur is not due to an excess of alcohol and women.

Jaime signs the contract to do the movie then finally sits down and reads the script—and wonders what the fuck he was thinking.  Brienne is right:  the script is quirky and unpredictable and funny, a romantic comedy that’s neither cloyingly sweet nor cringe-inducing ham-handed in its comedy.  He does find himself rather wistfully rooting for the male lead to fall for the female lead’s plucky sidekick if only because the plucky sidekick is a more interesting character.  Still.  What does he know about movies or romantic comedies or women, for that matter?

He takes Brienne’s advice and starts looking for an acting coach.  He’s still waiting for his quarterly royalty payment, so he can’t really hire anyone yet, but he wants somebody lined up for when he does have money again.  Besides the acting coach, he’ll need to pay back Tyrion and Addam—although he knows they’ll take their salaries and what he owes them for the last few weeks first.  More importantly, he’ll finally be able to pay Brienne to focus on finding Bronn and investigating who murdered Jazz Peckledon.  The case, he knows, has already gone cold for the Gold Cloaks—or mayhaps the investigation has stalled because Bronn disappeared and certainly had time to commit the crime.

Jaime doesn’t know where Bronn has gone, although he has a sneaking suspicion he isn’t going to like the answer when he learns it.  But there’s one thing he _does_ know:  Bronn would not have killed that poor girl.

*/*/*/*/*

In the couple of weeks since Olenna Tyrell’s party, Jaime studies his script, writes songs, and teases Brienne and Nan, and Nymeria, too, when she’s around.  He meets with Tyrion and Addam every day, explores and re-arranges his house, and writes more songs.  He hasn’t been this creative in years, and Addam’s already making arrangements for him to record a new album and release it under his own label.

It doesn’t even matter if it bombs, he thinks one night, the six of them sitting at the table in the dining room.  They’re eating Brienne and Nan’s delicious food, talking about nothing in particular, and Jaime suddenly realizes he’s actually…almost… _happy_.

Even if he sometimes yearns for Taena and the life he thought he had created with her.

Even if he wonders where Bronn is.

And even if he wishes he knew who murdered Jazz Peckledon.

*/*/*/*/*

The days pass in a blur for Brienne.  She’s busier than she’s ever been, both with her private investigation business and her catering company.  She’s not sure she can keep up the pace, but without the catering company, Nan wouldn’t have a job.

The cases are more varied now, and she enjoys them.  Only she wishes she could do more for the greater good instead of simply for the rich and famous.

Which is why, when the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Barristan Selmy himself, asks her to meet with him, she jumps at the chance.

*/*/*/*/*

She walks into Barristan Selmy’s office and gives him what she hopes is a coolly professional smile.

“Ms Tarth,” he says, shaking her hand.

“Lord Commander,” she says and takes the seat he indicates.

“I’ve heard many good things about you, Ms Tarth.  You’ve done some outstanding—and discreet—work for some friends of mine.”

“Oh?” she says with a polite smile and Lord Commander Selmy grins.

“I see the stories of your discretion have not been exaggerated.”

She flushes a little at the compliment then says, “What can I do for you, Lord Commander?”

“I need your help to reconnoiter a location and plant some listening devices.”

Brienne stares, her face expressionless.

Barristan grins again and leans back in his chair.   “Have you heard of Beric Dondarrion?”

“Of course.  He’s only the most notorious criminal in Westeros.”

“Yes.  The leader of the Brotherhood without Banners—or the Mob, as we prefer to call them.  They prey on the weak and the vulnerable while pretending to protect them.”

Brienne smiles a little at the disgust in the older man’s voice.  “What do you want me to do?”

“Beric Dondarrion’s favourite restaurant is Lady Stoneheart’s.”

Brienne’s eyes widen.  “ _The_ most exclusive restaurant in King’s Landing?”

“Yes.  You have to be an A-list celebrity, or a member of the royal family or of a Great Houses just to get within spitting distance of the door.”

She raises an eyebrow.  “You’re a highborn, Lord Commander, and wealthy in your own right.”

“But not a member of a Great House.  More importantly, I _am_ also Lord Commander, as you point out.  I and the rest of my Kingsguard are as well-known as the royal family themselves.  To get inside is virtually impossible, and to get inside often enough to plant surveillance devices is absolutely impossible.”

“And you think I can get past the front doors?  I’m no celebrity and I’m also not from a Great House.”

Barristan Selmy slowly smiles.  “You have some well-known friends and one _very_ well-known friend in particular.  I have it on good authority that Lady Stoneheart would…hmm…do almost anything to have him darken her doorstep.  I’m sure you’ll find the doors to the restaurant will open far more easily for you than for me or my Kingsguard.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime looks suspicious the moment Brienne walks into the music room bearing a gift.

He eyes the creamy chocolate mousse in the delicate crystal bowl with equal measures of suspicion and lust and says, “What do you want?”

“Can’t I just make a treat and share it with you?” Brienne asks as she puts the bowl on top of the piano.

“No.”

She shrugs.  “Fine, I’ll eat it myself,” she says, reaching for the bowl.

He quickly snatches it out of her reach.  “I didn’t say you could take it away!  I just know you want something.”

“I need your help getting into the most exclusive restaurant in town.”

“Lady Stoneheart’s?  Ha!  Never!”  He licks his lips as Brienne hands him a dessert spoon.  “Why do you want to go there anyway?  Your food is better.”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “I have a case.”

“What kind of case?”

“I can’t say.”

He eyes her suspiciously as he pops a spoonful of the sinfully good mousse into his mouth.  He closes his eyes and moans a little and Brienne has a sudden, wild vision of doing things with chocolate mousse that had never crossed her mind until that very moment.

She gulps a little and wishes she had even half of Nymeria’s uninhibited self-confidence.  Not that Jaime would take her up on the offer, of course…but still…

“So all I have to do is get us into the restaurant?”

Jaime’s voice startles her back to the moment.  He’s smirking at her as he licks a bit of chocolate from his upper lip and she bites back a moan of her own.

She glances away and nods.

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “And if I say no?”

“Why would you say no?”

“Besides the fact that Lady Stoneheart would love to string me up from the nearest tree, private detecting is your thing, not mine.  I have my own things to do.”

“Oh, come on—you had fun the last time!”

“Sure.  Until my chin fell on to that guy’s fist.”

“Are you so craven, then?”

He waggles the dessert spoon at her in warning.  “Nice try.  Not going to work.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime sits, arms crossed over his broad chest, and pouts as the car pulls away from the house.

“I honestly don’t know why I agree to these things,” he mutters.

Brienne adjusts the skirt of the same frumpy dress she wore to Olenna Tyrell’s party and gives him a smug smile.

“Don’t look so smug,” Jaime growls.  “Using my own weaknesses against me.  That’s low.”

She can’t help it:  she snickers.  “Being a chocoholic is a burden you’ll just have to learn to bear.”

He sniffs again then turns to look at her with a frown.

“Is that the only dress you own?”

She flushes a little.  “The only one that’s even close to being acceptable for a restaurant like this.”

“Barely.  When was the last time you had enough money to go shopping for clothes, Brienne?”

She blushes a little.  “I’m not much of a shopper,” she mumbles.  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the type to be a clothes horse.”

Jaime looks taken aback.  “Are you serious?  You’re exactly the type to be a clothes horse!”

Brienne gives him an incredulous glare.  “What are you talking about?” she snaps.

“You’re what?  Six three?”

“Yes.”

“You’re in good shape—not an ounce of fat on you, even though you make sinfully delicious and irresistible chocolate desserts.”  He cocks his head, considering her critically.  “You have good lines.”

“Good lines?  What am I, a horse?”

Jaime laughs.  “A thoroughbred.”

Brienne rolls her eyes even as a hot blush heats her cheeks.

“You’re not conventionally beautiful, no,” Jaime continues and the words are like small punches to her heart, “but you certainly have presence.  All I’m saying, Brienne, is that I think you could be quite striking if you had a personal stylist to dress you and do your hair and makeup.”

“Right,” she says, her voice flat.  “And I’m not good enough the way I am?”

Jaime raises his hands in mock surrender.  “Hey, I’m not talking about how you look on a normal day, which is perfectly nice, by the way, although how you find pants long enough for those endless legs is anybody’s guess.  And whatever makes you happy and comfortable is what you should wear.  But I’m talking about moments like this, where we’re going to be going to a restaurant or some other public event—like Olenna Tyrell’s party—and we’re going to be subjected to the glare of the varysazzi and tabloids and social media, and none of those are particularly kind.  Now, again:  if that dress you’re wearing is something you like and it makes you feel good, then that’s one thing.  But if it doesn’t give you the confidence to face that gauntlet of judgmental gawkers, then it’s time to think of a different strategy.”

Brienne’s eyes are wide as Jaime finishes talking.

“Are...are you giving me advice?” she finally says.

He grimaces.  “I know.  You really shouldn’t listen to _Jaime fucking Lannister_.”  He glances out the window as the car slides to smooth stop.  Brienne sees the varysazzi are already swarming towards the limo.  Jaime turns to look at her, a cynical gleam in his green eyes.  “But remember:  I’ve been a celebrity since I was seventeen.  I may have learned a thing or two over the years.”

*/*/*/*/*

Walking into Lady Stoneheart’s is like walking into a documentary of the who’s who in King’s Landing.  The ‘acting royalty’ branch of the Targaryens is holding court in one corner:  Daenerys and her brothers, Rhaegar and Viserys, along with their assorted significant others of the moment.

In the opposite corner is the former ‘King of the Movies’, Robert Baratheon and his wife, Lyanna, along with their son, Jon.  Brienne’s inner eyebrow rises, however, when she catches how Lyanna and Rhaegar steal glances at each other when they think nobody’s looking.

At a third table is Olenna Tyrell, her son and all her grandchildren, while the Manderleys of the North—high-powered producers and directors known for their melodramatic flair, labyrinthine plots, and dark-edged themes—are at the table next to the Tyrells.

In the corner farthest from the door but still with a clear view of it is Beric Dondarrion with several serious looking men round him.  The most serious of them all is sitting by Beric’s right hand and Brienne recognizes him as Edric Dayne.  Edric gives them a coldly assessing look before dismissing them with a flick of his eyes.

There are several more tables, filled with other A-list celebrities of stage and screen, and there, in pride of place at the centre of the restaurant, with a good view of all the tables, is Petyr Baelish, owner of the PB Channel and the most well-known purveyor of pornography in Westeros, and beside him is his wife, Catelyn, better known as Lady Stoneheart and the owner of this restaurant.

“Fuck,” Jaime says through a gritted, toothy smile as they’re shown to their table, “I’d hoped she wouldn’t be here.  I may need a food taster tonight.”

Brienne frowns.  “Why?”

“Catelyn Baelish hates me.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

His smile is thin as he holds her chair for her.  His eyes are glittering with some emotion she can’t decipher as he takes his own seat across from her.

“No,” he says as he accepts the discreetly offered menu, “everyone else is annoyed by me, but that woman actually _hates_ me.”

Brienne waits until the pretty waitress finishes telling them about the evening’s specials then takes their drink order before gliding gracefully away and then she says, “Why?”

Jaime shoots her a puzzled frown then raises an eyebrow as he recognizes the honest confusion on her face.

“You really have been living under a rock all your life, haven’t you?” he says.

She flushes and rolls her eyes.  “Just tell me.”

Jaime opens his mouth then leans back as the waitress returns with their drinks before once again discreetly melting away.

He leans on the table, folding his hands in front of him.  “Have you at least _heard_ of Lysa Tully?”

“Of course,” Brienne snaps. Lysa Tully had been the most popular female rock star of Brienne’s freshman year of college.  Lysa had been young, beautiful, wildly talented, and tragically flawed.  She’d exploded on to the music scene with her rebelliously subversive debut album, _Family, Duty, Honor,_ and it became the soundtrack for every young girl trying to find her own way in life while struggling against family and societal pressures.

Jaime nods.  “Then you know she’s the younger sister of our hostess, Catelyn Tully Baelish, also known as the famous rock star, Lady Stoneheart.”

Brienne jerks a short nod as she taps her finger on the menu.

Jaime says, “Good.  Then you likely _also_ know that Lysa and I had a short-lived fling.  Very short-lived.”

Brienne frowns.  She hadn’t paid any more attention to celebrity gossip then as she does now.  She’s never cared about the personal lives of the celebrities whose work she enjoys; she just wants to enjoy their work.  In fact, the less she knows, the more she _can_ enjoy the art they create.

Jaime raises an eyebrow and shakes his head.  “This town is going to eat you alive,” he says.

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “So what’s the story?”

Jaime sighs and looks suddenly sad.  “Lysa had brilliant talent—blinding, almost—but she told me she felt smothered by the shadow of her big sister who had already made it big a couple years earlier.  And Lysa was... _fragile_.  By the time I met her, she was at the peak of her success but she was also drug addicted and spiralling out of control.  We had a fling and—for the record—its end was mutual...or as mutual as it can be when you’re barely together in the first place.  Honestly, it was like a one-night stand spread out over two weeks.  Anyway, despite what the tabloids claimed, I didn’t cause Lysa Tully’s stints in rehab or her subsequent breakdown.  But you can’t convince her sweet sister of that.”

Brienne frowns.  “So, basically, Catelyn Baelish thinks you drove her sister crazy?”

Jaime pauses, considering, then shrugs and says, “Yes.”

Brienne glances at the beautiful, auburn-haired woman sitting at the centre table.  Lady Stoneheart is watching them with hate-filled and ice-cold blue eyes.

“Well,” Brienne murmurs, “Lysa Tully’s been a resident at the Eyrie for the last ten years.  Hasn’t she shown any improvement?”

Jaime shrugs again.  “I have no idea,” he says.  “I told you:  the fling was brief—a couple of weeks, at most.  It’s not like we even liked each other all that much.  We had some fun and then went our separate ways.  I think she began her first stint in rehab a month or two later, which is why the rumor mill started churning to begin with.  I was on the ‘Sends His Regards’ tour by the time she hit rock bottom.”

Brienne frowns, faint bells of celebrity gossip ringing in the back of her mind.  “I heard you directed a lot of those songs at Lysa Tully,” she says slowly.  “I remember friends of mine saying that the songs on that album were what helped drive Lysa Tully over the edge.”

Jaime sighs.  “I’m not certain where that rumor started, but it’s definitely not true.  The whole album is really angry, aimed at my father and the music industry, both of which know how to royally screw people over.  Besides, the whole thing was written and recorded at least six months before I ever met Lysa.  It’s also not the kind of album I’d direct towards a person as fragile as Lysa was at the time.”  He gives her a thin smile.  “I’m an asshole.  I’m not a _jerk_.”

“But you just said you directed a lot of those songs at your father.”

Jaime’s chuckle is coldly humorless as he picks up his wine.  “I can call my father many things—and believe me, I have!—but I have never once considered him ‘fragile’.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime may be nothing more than a hedonistic, self-centred rock star, but that doesn’t mean he’s a complete idiot.

The moment he saw Beric Dondarrion in the restaurant, he knew the target of Brienne’s mysterious case.  As the evening progresses, he tells her more about his history with Lady Stoneheart and her husband, Petyr Baelish—the bastard who made his fortune by stealing video of Jaime’s naked cock—all while Jaime keeps a charming smile on his lips and anger sparking in his eyes.

When he gets her home, he thinks, he’s going to tell her in no uncertain terms what he thinks about her allowing herself to be dragged into anything that has to do with the Brotherhood without Banners.  The Mob is dangerous and whatever it is she’s up to needs to end before anyone catches wind of it.

He leans across the table after the waitress delivers their appetizers.

“All right,” he murmurs, giving her his most charming smile for the benefit of their observers, “tell me what you’re trying to accomplish.”

Brienne blinks her large, beautiful eyes and he’s distracted for a moment with watching a flush creep into her cheeks.

“I can’t tell you,” she mutters.

“Well, you’re not going to get close to that table in the corner on your own,” he says.

Her flush deepens and he didn’t think it possible, but her eyes are even more beautiful when they sparkle with anger.  “And you think you can?”

“Just watch me,” he says with a smirk and winks as he lifts his wine glass.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne most likely finally tells him her assignment simply to prevent him from sauntering over to the table in question and blowing everything out of the water.  She explains her goal—to plant a listening device somewhere on Beric Dondarrion’s regular table—and Jaime’s impressed with the way she makes sure no one in the restaurant can get a clear look at her mouth as she speaks.  He doubts anyone can read lips that well or is even paying that much attention to them, but still.  It’s a precaution that proves Brienne thinks ahead to identify potential risks and then acts to mitigate them.

He rather wishes he had that same tendency.  It would have saved him a lot of embarrassment over the years...not to mention all of his money.

For a moment, the memory of Taena cuts deep and he misses her and the life he thought they had with every fibre of his being.

He glances round the restaurant until his gaze once again collides with Lady Stoneheart’s cold, angry stare.  He steadily meets her glare then raises an eyebrow as he lifts his wine glass in salute and is rewarded with Catelyn’s lips twisting into a sneer as she turns her attention back to her husband.

Jaime looks back at Brienne and sighs.

“If you get caught, they’ll kill you,” he says.

“I won’t get caught,” she says.

He shakes his head.  “I’ll get you to the table,” he says.  “The rest is up to you.”

*/*/*/*/*

They’re waiting for dessert when Jaime decides it’s time.  Beric and his men are on their after-dinner coffees and Jaime leans closer to Brienne and says, “I think now would be a good time to begin working the room.  Do you have the thing in your purse?”

She frowns and nods.

“You may want to go to the washroom and get the thing ready.”

She blinks and he wonders how she’s going to deceive dangerous men like Beric and his soldiers with such innocent eyes.  Then she blinks again, gives him an awkward smile and says, “I’ll be right back.”

She unfolds her length from the chair and he admires the sway of her arse beneath that truly unflattering dress as she walks towards the washrooms before he shifts his gaze and meets Edric Dayne’s incredulous stare.  He grins at the man, who has the grace to look embarrassed to be caught staring.  Jaime grabs his wine glass and saunters over to the other man’s table.

“Jaime Lannister,” he says, holding out his hand to Edric.  “Excuse me for interrupting your dinner but...are you a Dayne?”

Edric exchanges a baffled glance with Beric before slowly reaching out and shaking Jaime’s hand.  “Edric Dayne,” he says.

“Ser Arthur Dayne’s...son?”

Edric’s eyes narrow.  “Nephew.  You knew my uncle?”

Jaime chuckles.  “We crossed paths a time or two, yes,” he says.  He glances over his shoulder to find Petyr Baelish and Lady Stoneheart staring with sharp, watchful eyes.  He nods at them and says, his voice slightly raised so his words drift clearly to everyone in the restaurant, “Ser Arthur lectured me to no end after Petyr Baelish acquired—illegally, I might add—that notorious sex tape he used to build his porn business.”

Petyr slowly smiles.  “You made me a fortune,” he says and raises his glass in salute while Lady Stoneheart sharply turns her back to Jaime.

Jaime raises his own glass in mock salute and turns back to Edric.  “Tell me, was your uncle that sanctimonious with his family members or was I just lucky?”

Edric stares, expressionless.

Jaime grimaces and says, “Have my words offended you?  I’m sorry.  Was he your favourite uncle?  Or mayhaps you were his favourite nephew and so he never lectured you even once.”  He glances at Beric and back to Edric.  “Even despite the company you keep.”

Beric and his men straighten in their chairs.  “What does that mean?” Edric growls.

“Oh, please,” Jaime says, and wonders how long it’s going to take Brienne to return from the ladies’ room.  “As one man with a less-than-stellar reputation to others, I know what it’s like to have friends and relatives who walk a different path but love us anyway.  I’ve received my fair share of lectures, but only two from Ser Arthur.”  He sips his wine with a thoughtful air.  “Or was it three?  Regardless, the first two were definitely memorable!”  He gives Edric and the others a charming, self-deprecating smile as he sees Brienne finally returning from the ladies’ room.  “I meant no disrespect to the memory of your uncle,” he says.  “He and I may have had our run-ins, but he was a good man.  Seeing you brought back memories...some of which I wish I could forget!”

He glances over as Brienne stops beside him with a smile and curious glances from him to the men at the table and back to him.  He holds out his hand and after a moment of hesitation and a shy smile, she delicately places her hand in his.  He feels the tiny listening device pressing into his palm as he turns to the table.

“This is my friend, Brienne Tarth.”  He returns his gaze to Brienne.  “I was just asking this gentleman if he was related to Ser Arthur Dayne.”

She frowns.  “The former commander of the Gold Cloaks?” she asks.

“Yes,” Edric says.  “And you are a private investigator.”

“Yes,” she says.  “I’m surprised you’ve heard of me.”

Beric chuckles and speaks for the first time.  “You cleared _The Jaime Lannister_ of murder.  Everyone’s heard of you.  Mayhaps I need to hire you to work for me.”  He stands and holds out his hand. 

Brienne disentangles her hand from Jaime’s, leaving the tiny bug clinging to his palm.  She shakes Beric’s hand with every appearance of shy pleasure.

Beric’s smile doesn’t change as he holds on to her hand.  “Please, join us for an after-dinner coffee.”

“Oh, no,” she says, shaking her head and blushing, although she doesn’t try to tug her hand free from Beric’s grip.  “We don’t want to intrude!”

Beric’s smile is charming but his eyes are watchful, and Jaime sees the man’s fingers tighten round Brienne’s hand. 

“No, no,” Beric says smoothly, “we’ve finished our business, and it’s not every day we have the opportunity to speak with _the_ Jaime Lannister.”  He turns his coldly assessing eyes to Jaime.  “I’ve never seen you in this restaurant before.”

“Most likely because I’ve never been here before,” Jaime says with a smile as he looks pointedly at Beric’s and Brienne’s joined hands.  His smile is bland as he glances again at Lady Stoneheart before once again meeting Beric’s gaze.  “I’m sure I don’t have to explain why.”

“And yet, here you are,” Beric purrs.

Jaime shrugs.  “If you’ll stop manhandling my date, we can sit down and I’ll be more than happy to explain why we’re here,” he says, an edge to his voice.

Beric’s smile is mocking as he finally releases Brienne’s hand.  “Date?” he says.  “Really?”

Jaime holds out Brienne’s chair for her then lifts her hand to his lips.  He brushes a soft kiss against her knuckles as he transfers the bug back to her hand.

“Really,” he says firmly to Beric, then borrows a chair from a neighbouring table and places it between Brienne and Beric.

“You know Brienne is a private investigator but did you know she’s also a caterer?” he says as he sits down.  “I may be biased, but I think she’s the best chef in King’s Landing.  Unfortunately, she keeps insisting the best chef works here, at Lady Stoneheart’s.  I bet that she was wrong and that I wouldn’t enjoy the food here nearly as much as I enjoy hers.  Unfortunately, the only way to settle the bet was to actually eat here.”  He heaves a long-suffering sigh.  “Truth be told, I think she just wanted to eat something she hasn’t cooked herself.”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “Oh, please,” she mutters.

Jaime leans conspiratorially closer to Beric.  “She bribed me.  With the most sinfully delicious chocolate mousse it’s ever been my pleasure to experience.  Brilliant, though, really.  Who’d ever suspect someone of betting _against_ themselves just to get out of the house?”

Brienne touches his shoulder and he glances over his shoulder at her.

“Well, my mousse won’t hold a candle to the one served here.”  She glances over her shoulder at their table and Jaime sees the waitress approaching with their desserts.  Brienne turns back to the table.  “We can go back to our table or—”

“No, no,” Beric instantly says and motions the waitress over.  “Please, stay.  We don’t mind if you finish your meal with us.”

“Thank you,” Brienne says with a smile and relaxes back in her chair.

Jaime raises an eyebrow at her and she gives him a sweet smile and a nod, and for a moment he forgets they’re sitting with the most dangerous man in Westeros.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime throws himself face down on the couch in their drawing room and says, “Never accept a case like that again, Brienne!  Do you have any idea what Beric Dondarrion and his men would do to us if they realized what we were doing?”

“Well, hopefully they didn’t,” she says with a defiant lift to her chin.

He sits up and glares.  “Well, _also_ hopefully, they won’t find that bug for months and by then, they won’t have any clear suspicions who planted it.”

She plops down on the opposite couch, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest, and glares at him.

“Oh, don’t pout,” he growls.

Brienne gasps.  “I do not pout!”

“You so do!  What made you agree to take such an insane assignment anyway?”

Brienne flushes.  “I just wanted to work a case that would help somebody other than just the rich and famous,” she mutters.

Jaime sighs.  “I don’t know what to say to that,” he mutters, “except to say I am _never_ helping you again!  I don’t care how many chocolate mousses you throw my way!”

*/*/*/*/*

Two weeks later, Brienne walks into the music room carrying a slice of dark chocolate cheese cake.

Jaime takes one look at her and says, “No.  Absolutely not.”

“Come on, Jaime,” she says, slowly waving the plate in front of him.  “I have to do security at a party at Lady Tarly’s and I need a cover.”

“Well, I’m not exactly low profile.”

“Exactly what I need.”

“You just said you need a cover!”

“Haven’t you ever heard of something called ‘wag the dog’?”

“Is that some PI code for kinky sex?”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “No!  It’s causing everyone to focus in one place while you do what you need to do somewhere else.”

“Well, they’ll be focused on me, all right.  The Tarly family is made of up of nothing but overly respectable people; I’m not exactly their usual party guest!”

“Look, I just want you and Nym to go in and while all eyes are on you, I’ll do my reconnaissance.”

“Hells, no!”

“You won’t do it?”

“Not with Nymeria, that’s for certain!  I don’t need any more public nudity arrests on my record!”

Brienne pauses, blinking.  “How many do you have?”

“None!  And that’s how I want it to stay!”

“Oh, come on!”  She seductively waggles the chocolate cheese cake in front of his eyes.

“Hah!  No.  I’m not doing it.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime wonders how he ends up in these situations as the police arrive to arrest the two thieves he and Brienne found breaking into Lord Tarly’s safe.

“I told you no,” he complains to Brienne on the way home.  “I heard me say no to you.  I know you heard me say no to you.  How the fuck did I end up going with you?”

Brienne blinks guileless blue eyes and says, “I guess I’m just convincing.”

“No—you promised to make me two more of those sinfully delicious chocolate cheesecakes.”

“That’s being convincing, isn’t it?”

“Well, this is the last time, Legs, I swear it!  My heart can’t take any more of this shit.”

*/*/*/*/*

As Jaime chases after Brienne, who’s chasing down a wiry little man with Lady Hornwood’s diamond necklace clutched in his hand, Jaime wonders when ‘the last time’ is ever going to actually arrive.

*/*/*/*/*

“At least he hit you in the head,” Brienne says a week or so later as she helps him on to a chair in the kitchen.  The man suspected of stealing a priceless painting from the Westeros Museum of Art had been remarkably difficult to subdue and Jaime still doesn’t know how the jerk got behind him.

Jaime gives Brienne a questioning look then winces as she puts an ice pack against the swelling goose egg on the back of his head.

“Your skull’s as thick as a castle wall,” she says with a helpful air then smiles.

He half-laughs, half-groans and grits his teeth against the pain.

“Legs,” he growls, “you’re just lucky I don’t start filming the movie until next month.”

*/*/*/*/*

“Thank gods,” Jaime groans to Tyrion.  “The royalties arrived just in time.  Plus the movie is going to start filming in two weeks.  That should save me.”

“You still can’t act.”

“Yes, but at least I won’t be getting punched by criminals.”

“Just stop hurting the face,” Tyrion says with a bored shrug.  “You don’t want to do any permanent damage and break the hearts of all your screaming fans.”

“I love you, too, Tyrion,” Jaime growls and rolls his eyes.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne eyes Jaime suspiciously as he saunters into the drawing room followed by a red-haired woman who stops at the sight of her to give her an incredulous stare.

“Legs,” Jaime says briskly, “I’d like you to meet Senelle.  I’ve hired her to be your personal stylist for a few days.”

Brienne surprised by the rage and hurt that surges through her.

“ _What?_ ”

Jaime raises a hand.  “Before you get insulted, hear me out.”

She glares but then remembers she was cleaning his cuts and bruises a couple weeks ago that he only received because he agreed to help her on a case.  She subsides, her arms crossed tight over her chest.

“My royalty payment arrived,” Jaime says briskly.

Brienne scowls.  “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It means I’m somewhat flush with cash again, and I want to hire you to focus on finding Jazz Peckledon’s murderer.  If you happen to find Bronn in the process, that’s even better.”

Brienne’s scowl only deepens.  “And Senelle?”

“Her services are part of my payment to you.”  He shakes his head.  “Seriously, Legs, if you’re going to be seen at these celebrity parties and mixing with potential clients, you need to dress the part, otherwise you’re just going to continue to be pilloried on social media.”

“I don’t care what some strangers on the Internet say,” she sniffs.

“Unfortunately, in the celebrity sub-culture, most of them do.  Besides, you can’t do your job if you can’t blend in.”

“I don’t care,” she snaps.  “I don’t need a personal stylist and I won’t use her.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne stands, stiff and uncomfortable, as Senelle thoughtfully considers her.

“Jaime’s right,” Senelle say finally, “you have great lines.”

Brienne rolls her eyes.

“Trust me, Brienne,” Senelle says with a smile, “I’m only here to help you.  I’ll set you up with several outfits and teach you some make-up tips that will have you looking gorgeous no matter where you’re going or what you’re doing.”

Brienne just closes her eyes and groans.

*/*/*/*/*

A week later, Brienne, Nan and Nymeria stand on the front step and watch as the limo, with Jaime in the back seat with his new acting coach, pulls away.  He’s off to Dragonstone to begin working on the movie, and Brienne can’t help but feel a pang of loneliness and longing as the car turns the corner and disappears from sight.

“You’ll be too busy to miss him,” Nymeria says briskly.

“I wouldn’t miss him anyway,” she says, but even she can hear the forlorn note in her voice.

Nan snorts.

Brienne turns and gives them a determined smile.  “Never mind Jaime.  We have a murder to solve, so let’s get going.”

*/*/*/*/*

Karl and Morgan shake Brienne’s hand and wave her to a seat in front of their desks.

“The Jazz Peckledon case has gone cold,” Brienne says briskly, “and Jaime Lannister has hired me to look into it.”

“Of course it’s gone cold:  our only person of interest has disappeared,” Karl says with a bitter twist to his lips.

“Do you have any idea where he’s gone?”

“We think Jaime Lannister knows but isn’t talking to protect himself and his friend.”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “Jaime has no motive to kill the girl.  What?  A lost week filled with sex and fueled by alcohol was going to destroy his reputation?”

Morgan smiles a little.  “He was angry about Taena, and took it out on Pia.  He wouldn’t be the first.  He won’t be the last.”

“So, you think he sent Bronn back to kill her? That doesn’t fit with your theory.”

“There’s only a half-hour difference between the estimated time of death and Jaime’s arrival at the party.  For all we know, the girl was dead in the backseat of that limo.”

Brienne sighs.  “So, you haven’t found the house where they left Jazz?”

“We’ve canvassed all her friends.  Nobody lives in a house; nobody has come forward to say they saw her that night.  With Bronn Stokeworth’s disappearance, there’s no way of corroborating Jaime’s story.”

“Have you at least found the limo?”

“Abandoned at the International Airport.  It was left there an hour after Jaime arrived at the house.  Besides Jaime’s and Jazz’s DNA in the back seat, there’s nothing to connect the car to the crime.”

Brienne thoughtfully taps her fingers on the table, scowling.

“Why have you come up with your theory of the crime?” she asks.  “I thought you were confident Jaime couldn’t be involved.”

Karl and Morgan exchange a glance then Morgan shrugs in rueful surrender.

“It’s gone cold,” he says to Karl, “and we have other cases.  Maybe she can make some headway.”

“She lives with the prime suspect!”

Morgan shakes his head and flips open the file in front of him.

“You’re wondering why we haven’t completely ruled out Jaime Lannister? Here’s why.”

He lays out a picture of a dark-eyed, dark-skinned, vibrantly beautiful woman with bleached blonde hair.

“Taena Merryweather,” Morgan says.

He pulls out another photo and puts it beside the first, and Brienne’s heart stops.  She’s looking at another dark-eyed, dark-skinned, slightly-less-vibrantly-beautiful woman with bleached blonde hair.

“Pia ‘Jazz’ Peckledon,” she whispers.

*/*/*/*/*

They give her copies of the reports and witness statements along with the autopsy and crime scene photos

Brienne takes it home and she and Nym pore over every page and every detail.

Brienne puts the last page down and sighs.

Nym raises an eyebrow.

“There’s no sign of a struggle,” Brienne says slowly, a frown line scrunching the centre of her forehead.

“Toxicology shows a blood alcohol level of .13,” Nym says.  “There are also traces of cocaine and Ecstasy in her system.  So she was impaired, yes, but she shouldn’t have been to the point of unconsciousness.”

Brienne’s frown deepens.  “She also ate not long before she died:  cheeseburger, fries, a soft drink and some kind of chocolate cake, possibly a brownie.”

“So, what?  Are you suggesting she was drugged through the food?”

Brienne sighs and shakes her head.  “I don’t know.  But I do know there are drugs out there that don’t last long in the human body.”  She frowns and drums her fingers once again on the table top as she stares at the crime scene photos.  “I mean…you’d expect there to be _some_ struggle when you’re being strangled to death.”

*/*/*/*/*

Karl and Morgan reluctantly agree to ask the crime lab to run tests on Jazz’s stomach contents, even though they make it clear they think it’s likely going to be a waste of time.

“Jaime’s a big man,” Karl says, “and Jazz only weighed 110 pounds.  He could have easily subdued her.  Same with Bronn.”

Brienne nods.  “True.  But let’s run the tests anyway.”

*/*/*/*/*

“What do we do in the meantime?” Nym asks as they drive home and Brienne gives her a smile.

“If you promise not to wreck the place, how would you like a trip to Sunspear?”

*/*/*/*/*

Sin City—Sunspear—is even more over-the-top than Brienne expected.  What she doesn’t expect is to actually be charmed and entertained by it all.  Yes, there’s gambling and free booze and legalized prostitution, but it’s also bright lights and entertainment and a sly, self-aware amusement at the sheer insanity of building such a place in the middle of a desert in the first place.

Still, she has a job to do, and after a day of taking in the sights, Brienne drags a protesting Nymeria out of the Best Little Whorehouse in Dorne and sets her to work.

“I’ve tracked down the hotel worker who claims to have heard Jaime arguing with Jazz during their lost week,” Brienne says, “but he’s not telling me anything else.  Maybe you can get more out of him.”

Nym just sniffs and stares out the window, her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

“Oh, come on, Nym!  You can go have a holiday once we’re finished!”

Nym refuses to look at her as she growls, “The Fowler Twins are the most sought after whores in Sunspear.  I was just lucky they had a cancellation in their schedule.  I won’t get another chance with them until sometime next year!”

Brienne sighs.  “Then take a holiday next year.  _This_ year we’re working.”

*/*/*/*/*

The hotel worker is young, handsome, and even in a city notorious for its beautiful women, he’s easily bedazzled by Nymeria’s charisma and self-confidence.  Brienne would almost be jealous of her friend if she didn’t know it’s as useless as being jealous of the sun.

Still, it takes Nymeria more time than expected before he finally tells them that he heard the argument outside the penthouse suite door as he was delivering room service.  When he was let into the suite, however, Jaime was already passed out again in the bedroom.  He never actually saw the man.

Brienne frowns.  “When was the room trashed, do you know?”

“The same day they left,” he says promptly.  “Mr. Lannister was raving incoherently, like a madman.  His driver and his girlfriend had to practically carry him to the car.”

Brienne makes a note and says, “Was the driver around the whole time?”

He shakes his head.  “He only showed up the day they left.”  He frowns.  “I think he said something about how he’d been looking for them for days.”

Brienne frowns.  “Weren’t Mr. Lannister and Ms Peckledon in the penthouse suite for the entire week?”

“Oh, no.  They showed up the night before they left.  They were only here one night.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne scrolls through the scanned case file documents on her tablet, a heavy frown on her face.

“What’s bothering you?” Nym asks as she idly flips through the hotel’s book of Sunspear’s shows and tours and attractions.

“Every witness statement in this file says Jaime and Jazz were in the penthouse suite for a week.”

“So?”

“So, we now have one of the witnesses changing his story.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne calls Tyrion.

“Jaime’s lost week,” she says.  “How did it start?”

Tyrion half-groans and half-laughs.  “I wish I could forget it, too,” he says.  “How did it start...well, it started with Jaime calling me to say he suspected something was wrong with his bank accounts and that Taena was involved.”

“How did he figure that out?”

“Despite appearances, Jaime actually pays attention to things.  Sometimes.  When the mood hits him.  By that I mean he’ll randomly go and check his accounts, re-read his contracts, look through past royalty payments.  Question the details of my bill, the bastard.”

Brienne snickers a little and says, “So he had one of those moments?”

“Yeah.  And his bank accounts were almost empty, and most of his investments were gone.”

“How is that possible?” Brienne says sharply. “At least the investments.  Wouldn’t that have caused somebody to notice something?  And wouldn’t those types of activities have gone through you or Addam?”

“The investigation is still underway by the Kingsguard, and it’s being headed by Lord Commander Barristan Selmy himself.”

“Right,” Brienne says after a moment of confusion.  “Personal security for the Royal Family plus investigation of organized crime, counterfeiting and financial fraud.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay,” Brienne says, “how this happened is still being investigated.  But going back to Jaime’s lost week:  he called to tell you he’d been robbed.  And then what?”

“He told me he suspected Taena.  Addam and I went immediately to the Kingsguard and they were able to confirm that piece of it immediately.  Unfortunately, Taena was already in the wind.  I told Jaime and he decided to go drown his sorrows and promptly dropped out of sight.”

“And you couldn’t find him for days, right?”

“Right.  I mean, we talked on the phone—or rather, I talked and he grunted and mumbled.  Gods know what actually sunk in for him.  But where he was, physically...gods only know.”

“So he wasn’t in his penthouse suite for the whole week?”

“No.  And I’m not just going on Bronn’s word.  I called the hotel, too, several times.  They told me that suite was empty.”  Tyrion sighs.  “Jaime still managed to trash the place, though.”

*/*/*/*/*

“So, were they lying to Tyrion or to the police?” Nymeria says.

“And why lie at all?” Brienne says with a puzzled frown.  She gives Nym a thoughtful look.  “Do you think you can convince people to talk without necessarily ending up in bed with them?  And without them realizing they’re being questioned for a reason?”

Nymeria raises an eyebrow.  “Well, now, I _do_ love a challenge.”

*/*/*/*/*

It takes Nymeria three days but in the end, she has information that she refuses to share with Brienne until they’re safely back in King’s Landing.

“Okay, now you’re freaking me out,” Brienne says with a puzzled scowl as Nym leads her into a diner filled with noise and clattering dishes.

“ _I’m_ freaking out,” Nymeria says, glancing round.  She leans closer.  “Every one of the witnesses told me a different story than they told the police.”

Brienne frowns.  “I don’t understand.  Why would they do that?”

“Jazz told them to tell anyone who asked that she and Jaime were in the penthouse suite the entire time.  Cash was involved.”

Brienne scowls.  “And the fact the girl was murdered didn’t make any one of them decide to tell the truth?”

Nymeria spreads her hands and shrugs.  “There’s some suspicion that Jazz was connected somehow to the Brotherhood without Banners, or mayhaps the Bloody Mummers.  Crossing either one of those criminal organizations, especially in Sin City, can get you killed.”

“But...why would...” Brienne trails off, frowning.

Nym watches her with a quizzical lift of her eyebrow.

Brienne glances round the diner and leans closer to Nym.  “Catelyn Baelish, also known as Lady Stoneheart, hates Jaime’s with a passion.  And she knows Beric Dondarrion.”

*/*/*/*/*

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Jaime says flatly.

Brienne winces.  “You said yourself, Lady Stoneheart hates your breathing guts.”

“She does, but to think she might have had something to do with my lost week is ridiculous.  Why would she bother?  Revenge?  It’s been what?  Ten years since Lysa Tully had her breakdown?  Catelyn could have taken advantage of so many other missteps of mine...this makes no sense.”

“I’m not even sure she’s involved,” Brienne says with a sigh.  “It’s just...odd that people in Sunspear think Jazz had connections to the Mob.”

“Everyone who lives in Sin City has connections to the Mob,” Jaime says drily.  “Look,” he says with a sigh, “I have no doubt Lady Stoneheart would run me over with a steamroller if she saw me in the street in front of her.  But to—what?  Hire a girl to take me on a bender?  Just at my weakest moment?  How would she even know?”

Brienne remains silent and then she hears Jaime’s sharp intake of breath.

“Taena?”

“I don’t know, Jaime,” Brienne says gently.  “I’m just exploring possibilities right now.”

He heaves a sigh, and even without seeing him, Brienne imagines him pinching the bridge of his nose and a sudden desire to see his handsome face almost makes her double over with longing.

“What do you want to do?” he asks softly.

“I think I need to go to Myr.”

“I think I need to go with you.”

“Is that really a good idea?” she asks, her stomach dropping.

“I’m hoping that if Taena is surprised by me, she’ll be more likely to spill something.”

Brienne sighs.  “Mayhaps,” she says.  “We’ll go once filming’s finished.”

“It won’t be long.  Four more weeks, more or less.”

“How’s the movie going?”

“Pod is so wet behind the ears I feel like I should be wringing him dry.  Then again, I’ve never acted before, so everyone thinks the same about me.  But...yeah.  It’s been...fun.”

“You sound uncertain,” she says, a thread of amusement in her voice.

“I am having fun, and working hard, and everyone says I’m doing a good job.  I just...”

Brienne waits, wondering if he’s missing his music room, or Tyrion and Addam, or just finding acting more of a struggle than he expected.

“I miss you,” he says, his voice low and husky.

It takes a moment for his words to sink in and she blushes, then sternly tells herself he doesn’t miss _her_ ; he means he misses all of them.

“You just miss the home-cooked food,” she says, but there’s a strain in her voice she hopes he doesn’t notice.

“That, too,” he says and chuckles.  “Tell me what else has been going on.  How did you manage to control Nymeria in Sin City long enough to get any work done?”

“I promised she can go back to the Best Little Whorehouse in Dorne the next time the Fowler twins have time in their busy schedule.”

Jaime lets out a low whistle.  “You’re paying Nym too much if she can afford those two ladies!”

Brienne frowns.  “And you know that... _how_?”

“They’re fans,” he says.  His tone is so smug she wishes she could reach through the phone and smack him.  “Of course, I was with Taena when they met me backstage, so I didn’t take them up on their offers.  I’m rather sorry about that now.”

Brienne huffs a soft chuckle, and then there’s comfortable silence until she finally says, softly, “I should let you go.”

“No, no, I’m in no hurry.  Talk to me for a while.”

Brienne hesitates then almost shyly says, “Okay.  What do you want to talk about?”

Jaime’s chuckle rumbles across her nerve endings.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs.  “How about...what are you wearing?”

*/*/*/*/*

To Brienne’s surprise, Jaime calls her every evening.  Sometimes he asks her about what she’s discovered about the case, but mostly he asks her about her day, how she likes Senelle, and shares stories about what’s been happening on the movie set.  More than once she hangs up the phone and is surprised to realize an hour has passed.

Nymeria and Nan start giving her sly, knowing looks that she ignores with as much dignity as she can muster.

As for Senelle, she, true to her word, has augmented Brienne’s admittedly sparse wardrobe with several outfits worthy of the glare of the cameras, and Brienne even practices the makeup techniques Senelle taught her under Nym and Nan’s watchful eyes.  When she follows Senelle’s suggestions, even Brienne admits she looks...better.  Or at least more presentable than when she only had one frumpy dress to wear.

She rather childishly hopes Jaime likes the changes as much as she does, then is appalled by the fact she wants his approval and tells Nym she almost feels she needs to turn in her membership to the Feminists Club.

Nym only snickers and says, “You may want to put a supply of condoms in your room.”

Brienne blushes.  “Don’t be ridiculous!  Jaime would never—”

“Who mentioned Jaime?” Nym says and laughs.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime’s surprised at how he feels when he walks into his house and pauses in the foyer.  He looks round and takes a deep breath.

He feels...he feels...

He feels like he’s _home_ , and he can’t remember having this feeling since he left Casterly Rock to pursue a career in music.  He drops his luggage on the floor and wanders to the music room.  He smiles as he runs his hands over the piano.

He’s lived in hotels since he was seventeen.  He’s had money, yes, but never anything tangible he could point to and say was his.  He always thought he didn’t need it.

Who knew it felt like this?

He looks up as a tall, leggy, blonde goddess walks in the door.  She’s dressed in blue jeans and t-shirt, her hair is sticking up in tufts, her feet are bare, and she has a scowl on her face.

And just like the house, she feels like home.

*/*/*/*/*

“You’re home early,” Brienne says and Jaime smiles.

“The filming wrapped a little earlier than expected.  They’re still working on exteriors and other shots, but they’re finished with the actors.”  He pulls a face.  “Or else they sent me home early so they can cut me from the movie.”

“Cut you?  You’re the lead!”

He shrugs.  “Maybe they’ll start from scratch.”

She rolls her eyes and strolls closer to the piano.  “Well, I’m glad you’re back.  When do you want to go to Myr?”

Jaime shrugs.  “A couple of days.  Let me do my laundry at least.”

Brienne snorts.  “As if you do your own laundry.”

“Let my Angel do the laundry, then,” he says with a laugh.  He pauses and gives her a warm smile.  “It’s good to see you, Brienne.”

She looks down and flushes.  “You should have given some warning.  I would have surprised you with a new outfit and the makeup tips Senelle taught me.”

“You look perfect the way you are,” he says then abruptly sits down at the piano so he doesn’t forget himself and do something that will likely end with another bruised jaw.

Not to mention a bruised ego.

Brienne, thankfully, just rolls her eyes.  “Honestly, Jaime, do you even know how not to flirt?”

He smirks.  “Obviously not.”

*/*/*/*/*

After supper that evening, Brienne and Nymeria take Jaime into the den to talk about next steps and what he can expect when they get to Myr and find Taena.

“I won’t let you be alone with her,” she warns him.

He snorts.  “Do you really think I’m going to do something to her?”

“No, but I don’t want her to be able to say you did.  Between me and Nym, we should be able to keep you in our sights at all times.”

He widens his eyes in mock horror.  “At _all_ times?  That bed is going to be pretty crowded.”

“Works for me,” Nymeria says cheerfully and winks.

Brienne covers her eyes and groans, “Why me?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” Nym says.  Jaime snickers knowingly then yelps as both Brienne and Nymeria smack his shoulders.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Nym scolds.

“That’s rich, coming from you!”

“Can we focus?” Brienne says with a sigh.

Jaime sighs in turn.  “I’m sorry, Brienne.  I’m just trying to distract myself from the fact that my lost week was anything more than just a well-deserved bender after finding out the love of my life had screwed me over and stolen almost everything I owned.”

“It’s just a theory,” Brienne reminds him, “although it’s supported by the fact your memory ends so early in the weekend.  Quite frankly, you’re notorious for your hard-partying ways so the fact you can’t remember anything much after meeting Jazz in the casino is suspicious.”

“You think I was drugged?”

“More than usual, yes.”

Jaime whistles.  “Well, that would explain a lot of things,” he says and his shoulders slump.  He glances from Brienne to Nymeria and back again.  “Contrary to my reputation, I don’t do drugs of any kind.  I tend to have bad reactions to them.  Ask my doctor; he can’t even prescribe pain medication without having a medical team standing by.  Alcohol, on the other hand, goes down well, and even if I was on a bender, it should take more than a couple of drinks to make me black out.”

“So, if you’d been drugged, there would most likely have been a medical emergency of some kind?” Brienne pounces.  “A maester or a nurse or somebody would be called to check on you?”

Jaime shrugs.  “Or they just sat around and waited to see if I would live or die.  Maybe I was supposed to die, if Taena planned this.  Who knows?”

“She already had all your cash,” Nymeria says.

“She was the major beneficiary of my will when we were together.  Addam, Tyrion and Bronn all received a portion, as did a few charities, but the vast majority of it would have been Taena’s.  That was, of course, the first thing I changed after I sobered up.”  Jaime shrugs at their incredulous stares.  “I thought she loved me and not my money.  And now I find out she possibly tried to kill me.”

Brienne shakes her head, frowning.  “That makes no sense.  If she was trying to kill you to inherit, then there was no need for her to steal your money in the first place.  She would have just killed you.”

Jaime blinks, struck.  “You’re right,” he says.  “But if that’s the case...then whoever hired Jazz either didn’t think to tell her about my reaction to drugs, or...”

“Or they didn’t know about it.”

*/*/*/*/*

The air in Myr is warm and sultry.  The hotel they check into is elegant and classy, and Brienne raises an eyebrow at the size of the penthouse suite.

“We should have stayed in separate rooms,” she says mildly.

Jaime snorts a little.  “It doesn’t matter.  The tabloids are going to claim we’re all fucking anyway so we may as well enjoy the comforts of the suite.”

Brienne scowls but she can’t really argue the point, mainly because it’s true.

*/*/*/*/*

The next morning they drive to the lovely, secluded villa close to the beach which Brienne’s sources have told her now belongs to Taena Merryweather. 

Bought with Jaime’s stolen money, but still.

“Do you think she’ll let us in?” Nymeria asks with bright interest as they walk to the door.

Jaime says, “I don’t care if she lets us in so long as she talks to us.”

Brienne frowns.  “What?”

Jaime shrugs.  “She can talk to us outside if she wants.”

Nym snickers.  “Whatever works.”

*/*/*/*/*

They’re shown in by a sour-faced middle-aged maid who rakes Jaime with her eyes then sniffs and hurries away to find her employer.  Jaime’s too tense to pay much attention.  He doesn’t know whether Taena will actually talk to them or whether she’s going to call the police and have them thrown out.  He has no idea how he’s going to react to seeing his ex-lover for the first time since she stole almost everything he had out from under him.  He honestly doesn’t know which will be worse:  seeing her...or not seeing her.

He glances at Brienne and sees the muscles clenching in her jaw and realizes she’s just as tense as he is.  Her eyes meet his and she gives him an encouraging smile and for a moment he takes comfort in the now-familiar but still astonishing depths of her eyes.

“Gods, you two need to get a room already,” Nym mutters on the other side of him, low enough so that only he can hear her.

_I know_ , he thinks just as a door opens and Taena—gloriously beautiful, beautifully treacherous Taena—calls his name and flies, sobbing, into his arms.

He staggers back, his arms automatically going round her to steady himself.

“Oh, thank the gods you’re here!” she cries against his shoulder then lifts her head and kisses him.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime seriously wonders if he’s fallen into an alternate universe.  Taena is clinging to him as if he’d exiled her to this luxurious mansion on the coast of Myr for some imagined slight and he’s now arrived to accept her back into his waiting arms.  Her tears quickly dry and she dismisses Brienne with a flick of her eyes but peers suspiciously at Nymeria.

Taena says, “Let’s go somewhere and talk, Jaime.  Your... _friends_ can wait by the pool and I’ll have Mrs. Westerling serve them some refreshments.”

Jaime sees Brienne’s scowl and bites back an urge to laugh, even as he tries to wrap his head round what game Taena is playing.

“Where I go, they go,” Jaime says, setting Taena firmly away from him.  “There’s nothing we can talk about that they can’t hear.”

A flash of confused irritation crosses Taena’s face as she pouts. 

“You’ve never said no to me before,” she says.

“You’ve never stolen all my money before,” he says drily.

Taena’s eyes widen and fill with tears.  “Is that why you’re here?  Just because of the money?”

She suddenly flings herself against his chest and almost desperately clutches at him.  “I’m so sorry, Jaime!  I never should have done what I did!  I didn’t realize how much I truly loved you until I’d thrown it all away!”  She tilts her head back, her eyes pleading.  “Please—tell me it’s not too late.  Tell me you can somehow forgive me and we can start over.”  She begins to weep.  “Please tell me you still love me!”

Jaime’s now positive he’s in an alternate universe.  Or rather, he hopes he is, because Taena’s making him realize just how stupid he must have been while they’d been together if she truly believes he would take her back after what she’s done.

Yet...

His expression softens as he stares deep into her dark eyes, then he gently pulls the weeping woman closer, enclosing her in warm, comforting hug.  He avoids looking at Brienne even as he rubs a soothing hand up and down Taena’s back and rests his cheek on the top of Taena’s head.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he murmurs against her hair and ignores the sound of what he’s positive is Brienne’s teeth grinding together.  “What happened?”  He drops a light kiss on the top of Taena’s head.  “You can tell me.  You know I’ll forgive you anything.  I love you so much.”

And now, it seems, Taena’s shoulders shake with real sobs.

Jaime continues making soothing noises until finally Taena says, “He—he—he—the money’s gone, Jaime!”  Taena’s voice is thick with tears.  “That fucking bastard stole it right out from under me!”

He blinks and finally dares to meet Brienne’s and Nymeria’s eyes.  He’s both pleased and guilty that Brienne’s eyes are shooting blue flames at him while at the same time he can see the confusion on her face.

“Who’s ‘he’?” Jaime asks, his hand still rubbing soothing circles on Taena’s back.

That makes her sob even harder and Jaime can’t help but roll his eyes.  Brienne catches it and her own eyes widen and her mouth sags open.  He winks then turns back to soothing his erstwhile ex-lover.

Finally, Taena’s tears slow and Jaime says again, “Who’s ‘he’?”

Taena hesitates, leaning back to search his face.  “Will you really forgive me everything?  You’ll take me back?”

He smiles down at her.  “Of course I will, baby.”  He carefully wipes the tears from her cheeks.  “Who’s ‘he’?”

Taena sniffs and looks at him with melting, soulful eyes.  “Bronn.”

Jaime’s jaw drops.  “ _Bronn?_ ”

She nods frantically.  “He showed up about a week or so after I did.  Said he wanted to follow the money, especially since you couldn’t pay him anymore.”  She briefly looks guilty.  “Sorry, darling!”

Jaime shrugs.  “That doesn’t matter right now.  Bronn came here?”

“Yes!  And...I can’t explain it except to say I was missing you so much and he was a reminder of better times and...well...”

“You became lovers,” Jaime says.  “And?”

“And then...yesterday…I went shopping and my credits cards wouldn’t work and I couldn’t get money out of the bank.  I came home and found a note from Bronn.”

Jaime’s sure his face is frozen with stunned disbelief.  “And what did the note say?”

“That it had been fun but he’s gone to Slaver’s Bay, and when I checked my bank accounts, everything was gone!  I’ve been panicking all night!”  She gives him a slow smile.  “You walking in today—it’s a sign from the gods that we were meant to be together.”

Jaime dazedly shakes his head, then says, “Oh, it’s a sign from the gods all right.”  He puts his hands on her shoulders and gives her a besotted smile.  “Now, everything’s going to be all right, baby.”  He glances at Brienne and Nymeria, both watching with varying degrees of disbelief and disgust on their faces, then he turns back to Taena.  “Listen, though, my friends here need to know about Jazz.”

Taena looks honestly confused.  “Jazz?  The music?”

“You may have known her as Pia,” Brienne says briskly.  “Pia Peckledon.”

Taena’s eyes widen then she quickly shakes her head.  “Never heard of her.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow and he looks deep into Taena’s eyes.

“No?” he says softly.

“No.”

He slowly smirks.  “You knew her—or you knew of her.  I can see it in your face.”

Taena flushes, and she frowns.  “You sound like you’re accusing me of something.”

“We’re just trying to get information,” Brienne says briskly.  “We have reason to believe that you knew Pia ‘Jazz’ Peckledon and that you hired her to, erm, distract Jaime while you made good your escape to a place that has no extradition treaty with Westeros.”

Taena rakes Brienne with her eyes, a sneer twisting her lips.  “Who is this creature, Jaime?”

“She’s a private investigator I’ve hired to solve Jazz’ murder.”

Taena gasps.  “ _Murder?_ ”

Nymeria raises an eyebrow.  “I find it hard to believe you don’t know that Jaime was a suspect in a murder investigation.  What?  You came here and never once searched the web to see what Jaime’s been doing?”

Taena’s eyes narrow.  “No, I didn’t,” she snaps.  “I was too busy trying to find a place to live!”

“Right,” Brienne says drily.  “Tell us about Jazz.”

“I told you:  I don’t know anything about her!”

Brienne sighs.  “The police are in the process of subpoenaing Jazz’ bank and phone records.  It’ll be better for you if you tell us what your connection is to the poor girl now rather than after they find something that connects her to you.”

Taena turns her glare on Brienne then gives Jaime a pleading look.

He gives her a reassuring smile.  “Remember:  I’ll forgive you anything, Taena.  Remember how much I love you.”

There’s a flash of triumph on Taena’s face and then she says, “Cat thought it would be a good idea if we kept you distracted for a few days when I was ready to leave for Myr.”

Jaime frowns.  “Cat?”

“Catelyn Baelish.  She’s the one who put me in touch with Jazz.”

Jaime and Brienne silently stare at each other in shock.

“How did Cat know Jazz?” Nymeria asks.

Taena shrugs.  “Jazz was a Baelish Bunny.”

“When did you meet Catelyn?” Jaime says slowly.

Taena shrugs carelessly.  “I’ve known her for a while now.  You were always gone, and I’d run into her at the clubs and restaurants round town.”

“Of course,” he says faintly.  “And she knew what you were planning?  Taking the money, I mean.”

Taena nods, then sidles closer to him.  “She helped me do it, especially when it came to transferring the investments.”  She slides her hands up his chest and over his shoulders.  “I’m sorry, darling.  I was lonely, and convinced you were fucking around on me while you were roaming round the country doing your concerts.”

Jaime puts his hands over Taena’s then looks at Brienne and Nymeria.  “Any other questions?” he asks.

Brienne says to Taena, “What did you give Catelyn for helping you?”

Taena frowns.  “Nothing.  She likes me.  She thought I was in a bad situation and she just wanted to help me escape it.”  She turns back to Jaime.  “But I see now she was mistaken.”  She lifts on her tiptoes to press a lingering kiss against Jaime’s lips then looks up at him with a smile.  “When do you want to go back to Westeros?”

“Tomorrow.”

Taena laughs.  “Oh, darling, you should know better!  I’ll need more time than that to get packed!”

Jaime gently lifts Taena’s hands away from his body and steps away from her.

“No need to pack, Taena.  You won’t be coming with us,” he says.  “Ever.”

Her eyes widen and her jaw drops.  “ _What?_   You just said you’d forgiven me!  You just said you loved me!  You just said you’d take me back!”

Jaime shrugs.  “I lied.”  He looks at Brienne and grins.  “Looks like those acting lessons paid off after all.”

*/*/*/*/*

They return to the hotel in thoughtful silence but, to Jaime’s amusement and hope, Brienne is shooting death-glares at him all the way back to the hotel.  Back in the penthouse suite, they briefly discuss what they’ve learned then Brienne goes to her bedroom to phone Morgan and Karl and get them working on the latest leads.

Once they’re alone, Nymeria looks at Jaime and says, “How about we go to the bar for a few drinks?”

Jaime raises an eyebrow as he takes in the warning gleam in Nym’s eyes.

“Sure,” he says, and wonders what shit he’s in for now.

*/*/*/*/*

They’re on their third shot of Myrish Fire, a liquor that tastes like heaven and kicks like an auroch, when Jaime says, “How did you and Brienne meet?”

Nym snickers.  “It took you longer than I thought to mention Brienne.”

Jaime smirks and shrugs.  “She’s been a pretty major part of my life these last few months...and I have the bruises to prove it!”

Nym chuckles.  “She’s very persuasive when she wants to be,” she says fondly.  She turns to look at him.  “You did a good job with Taena today.  You played her like a fiddle.”

Jaime shrugs.  “It’s only fair.  She played me like a fiddle the entire time we were together, I think.”  He shakes his head.  “It’s hard to know what’s real and what’s not after a while.”

Nym nods, then leans close, her dark eyes intent on his.  “Brienne is a hundred percent the real deal, my friend, and I will protect her at all costs.”

He raises an eyebrow.  “By having orgies in my house?”

“Hey, she wasn’t there, I was on a case, and the party got out of hand.  We got the pictures the client needed and that’s what mattered.  Not to mention we saved your ass from being arrested for murder.”

“I remember.”

“Good.  I want you to remember this, too:  if you do anything—anything at all—to deliberately hurt Brienne, I will fuck you up so hard you won’t know which way is up for six months.”  She smiles sweetly. “Deal?”

Jaime blinks owlishly then shrugs.  “Deal.”

*/*/*/*/*

“Should we go to Slaver’s Bay?” Brienne asks at breakfast the next morning.

Her two companions stare at her with blood-shot eyes and Jaime says, “I’m planning on staying here and praying for death.  I don’t care what you two decide.”

Nymeria simply lowers her head to the table and quietly groans.

“Well, we still need to talk to Bronn,” Brienne says briskly.  “Maybe I should go by myself.”

“Considering we don’t know if Bronn is even still in the vicinity of Slaver’s Bay that would be kind of time consuming,” Jaime says, and she wonders if he’s speaking so carefully because he’s being cautious or because he’s trying to think through his massive hangover.

Brienne scowls.  “Well, we still have to rule him out as a suspect and don’t you want to get your money back?”

“I want to rule him out as a suspect, but I also want to get back to King’s Landing and talk to Lady Stoneheart.  Taena’s probably already told her we were here.  I still don’t think she murdered Jazz, but just like with Bronn, we need to rule it out.”

*/*/*/*/*

In the end, they all return to Westeros and set Morgan and Karl to discovering Bronn’s whereabouts—or at least what name he’s travelling under.  In turn, the two detectives give Brienne copies of Jazz’s bank and phone records.

“Why didn’t you tell us Jazz was a Baelish Bunny?” Brienne asks.  “There isn’t even a mention of it in the notes you gave me.  And how did it stay out of the media?”

Karl shrugs.  “Her family asked us to be as discreet as possible.  Besides, given the facts of the case as we knew it, it wasn’t relevant.”

“In other words, you were suffering from tunnel vision.”

Karl’s smile is thin.  “We were going where the evidence led us.  There was no reason to believe her job as a Baelish Bunny had any connection to her death.”

Morgan says, “And as for how it stayed out of the media, well...”  He shrugs.  “They were more focused on the fact _The Jaime Lannister_ was a person of interest in a murder investigation than they were on the victim.  I mean, the story quickly disappeared from the public once Jaime was publicly ruled out as a suspect.”

*/*/*/*/*

That night, Jaime’s face is grim when Brienne tells him and the others what the two Gold Cloaks told her. 

“It isn’t fair,” Jaime mutters.

“I know,” Brienne says.

Jaime frowns, drumming his fingers on the arm of the couch.

“Maybe you need to go public,” Addam says.

“Go public?” Brienne asks with a frown.  “About what?”

Jaime says, quickly, “The fact I’ve hired you to investigate the crime.  I don’t think that’s a good idea.”  He gives them a thin smile.  “Besides, we don’t have time to talk about it now.  We need to go now and speak to a certain lady.”

*/*/*/*/*

Every table at Lady Stoneheart’s is full, and Jaime sees Beric Dondarrion is sitting at the same table he’d used the last time Jaime and Brienne were here.  And in the middle of the room, in pride of place and with a clear view of all the tables is Lady Stoneheart and Petyr Baelish.

The hostess steps in front of them with a professional smile.  “I’m sorry, we don’t allow anyone in without a reservation.”

Jaime’s smile is just as professional.  “Oh, we won’t be staying long,” he says and gently pushes past the young woman and leads Brienne to the centre table.

Catelyn Baelish’s blue eyes are like shards of ice as they come to a stop beside them.

Petyr says, “This is a surprise, Lannister.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “Mayhaps to you.”  He turns to Catelyn.  “I’m assuming Taena called to warn you we’d be coming to talk to you.”

“Taena’s a lovely girl,” Catelyn says.  “You didn’t deserve her.”

“So because I didn’t deserve her, you actively poisoned her mind against me?”

“It didn’t take much.  Taena was already suspicious.”

“And Jazz?”

Catelyn frowns.  “Jazz?”

“Jazz Peckledon.”  Brienne says, her eyes boring into Petyr Baelish.  “One of your Bunnies.”

Petyr shrugs.  “There are hundreds of Baelish Bunnies.  You honestly think I can remember every one?  Besides, they all look alike after a while.”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “Of course,” she says drily.  “Yet you didn’t recognize the name after the girl was murdered?”

“Of course I did.  I told the police immediately she was one of my Bunnies.  I’m just not certain why it’s relevant.”

Jaime hasn’t taken his eyes off Lady Stoneheart.  “It’s relevant because you, Catelyn, hired the girl to meet me in Sunspear and to keep me ‘distracted’ while Taena made her getaway with all my cash.”

Catelyn snorts.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  Why would I do that?”

“Because you blame me for something that has never been my fault.  I did not cause Lysa’s breakdown.”

“You’re a lying bastard,” she hisses.  “She loved you!”

“She barely knew me!  We fucked for two weeks and that was the end of it!  This obsessive need you have to blame somebody else for the tragedy is on you, and only you!  Only this time, an innocent girl paid the ultimate price!  You killed her, didn’t you?”

“You’re mad!”

Petyr surges to his feet.  “That’s absurd!”

Beric Dondarrion and Edric Dayne hurry over, and Jaime’s acutely aware that everyone in the restaurant is now avidly watching them.

Brienne puts a calming hand on his forearm.  “You can’t go around lobbing accusations, Jaime.  There’s no evidence that Lady Stoneheart even met Pia Peckledon.”

Jaime glares.  “Whose side are you on?”

“Jazz’s,” Brienne says promptly, and Jaime deflates.

“You’re right,” he says and turns back to the four people glaring at him.  He takes a deep breath.  “I’m sorry.”

Lady Stoneheart’s expression turns triumphant.  “Taena’s right; you really don’t have any balls.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “Because I know enough not to accuse somebody of a crime without evidence?  I only wish you were smart enough to do the same.”

“Enough,” Brienne snaps.  “Let me do the talking.”  She turns back to their audience and says, “Please.  May I sit?”  She glances round the restaurant.  “I think we’ve created enough of a spectacle, don’t you?”

Lady Stoneheart looks thoughtfully at her then says, “You can sit.  He can leave.”

Jaime glares but before he can speak, Brienne says, “That’s fine.”  She turns to him.  “Go wait in the car.  Please.”

“Brienne—”

“I can handle this.  Just go!”

He grumbles then raises his hands in surrender as Edric Dayne takes a threatening step towards him.

“Fine.  I’m going.  But you have half an hour, then I’m coming back in for you.”

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “Go.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne takes a seat at Lady Stoneheart’s table while everyone is distracted with watching Jaime stomping from the restaurant, Beric Dondarrion and Edric Dayne trailing behind him.  She pulls herself closer to the table then rubs her palms against her pant legs and turns to watch Jaime’s exit from the restaurant.  Her fear finally eases when she sees neither Beric nor Edric actually leaves the restaurant.

She turns back to her reluctant hosts and gives them an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry.  He’s a bit...upset.”

Lady Stoneheart rolls her eyes.  “Am I supposed to feel sorry for him?”

“No.  But I hope you feel sorry for Jazz Peckledon.”  Beric and Edric join them and Brienne pulls her hands out from under the table and folds them in front of her as she leans closer to Lady Stoneheart.  “We know you helped Taena Merryweather steal Jaime’s money,” she says.

“If you say so.”

“I don’t say so; Taena says so.  Oh, I have no doubt it was Taena’s idea and you just jumped on the opportunity to stick it to Jaime.  None of us care about that anymore.  However, Taena also asked you to help arrange for a way to distract Jaime while she made good her escape.”

“So?”

“So—you’re the one who suggested Jazz.  In fact, you’re the one who connected the two together.  Phone records prove it.”

Lady Stoneheart’s eyes narrow.  “Again:  so?”

“So the girl ended up murdered after Jaime returned her to King’s Landing.”

“That’s unfortunate, but I have no idea what that has to do with me.”

“The fact you never came forward to the police to tell them about your part in Jazz’s meeting with Jaime is suspicious in itself.  There’s also the fact that Jazz most likely drugged Jaime to ensure he’d be out of the picture for a while.  Since there was no way of knowing when or if Jaime would discover Taena’s activities, that means Jazz was sent to Sunspear with the instructions to drug him and hide him away somewhere.  That’s kidnapping.  Unfortunately, Jaime’s also severely allergic to narcotics.  And if the person who gave Jazz her marching orders knew about Jaime’s allergy, then that’s attempted murder.”

Lady Stoneheart’s eyes are cold and unwavering.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just for my own amusement,” Petyr says, “what’s your theory?  Why are you even here?”

Brienne glances at him, then at the other two cold-faced men before returning her attention to Lady Stoneheart.  She tilts her head to one side as she wonders if there’s any human emotion at all behind the woman’s icy facade.

Brienne says, “I think you’ve been looking for an opportunity to destroy Jaime Lannister for the last ten years.  You blame him for your sister’s tragic life.  Then Taena wandered into your orbit.  She was obviously unhappy and easily manipulated and you jumped at the chance to get your revenge.  You convinced Taena Jaime was about to leave her, leaving her broke, and you helped her steal Jaime’s money and hide it in a bank in Myr.  Then you suggested using Jazz to get Jaime out of the way while Taena fled to Myr.  Only you also sent Jazz to Sunspear with some kind of drug and I suspect you knew about Jaime’s allergy.  I think you intended for Jazz to not just kidnap him, but also to kill him.  When Jaime dropped her off that night, Jazz called you to pick her up; the phone records should prove that.  You took her home and strangled her, maybe because she failed in her mission, or maybe because you realized she knew too much and could implicate you in the whole thing, especially if Jaime ever began to remember what actually happened.”

There’s dark silence as she finishes speaking.  She stares calmly at Lady Stoneheart, and then the woman begins to laugh.  She’s joined by the three men at the table.

“You’re a fool,” Lady Stoneheart says.  “I’ve done as you asked and listened to you.  Now get out.”

Brienne ducks her head and awkwardly pushes away from the table.  She turns away and Lady Stoneheart calls her name.

Brienne turns back and gives her a questioning look.

“I hope you realize I’m going to destroy your career, thanks to these ridiculous accusations.”  Lady Stoneheart’s smile is cruel.  “I hope you’ll think this was worth it when I leave you living in the gutter.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne closes the limo door with a sigh of relief and, with a grateful smile, takes the glass of wine Jaime hands her.

“Morgan called,” Jaime says.  “The bug is working perfectly.  They can hear everything.”

Brienne lifts her glass and clinks it against Jaime’s in a toast.  “Here’s hoping they have loose lips.”

*/*/*/*/*

They do.

Two days later, they watch as on television Lady Stoneheart is led away in handcuffs through a gauntlet of flashing cameras and shouted questions.

“Do you really think she strangled the girl herself?” Tyrion asks.

Brienne grimaces.  “It wouldn’t surprise me at all.  It would have been the work of a moment to drug Jazz’s food and then strangle her once she was incapacitated.”

Nymeria shakes her head.  “That’s just...cold.”

“I looked in that woman’s eyes,” Brienne says quietly.  “I think she’s dead inside.”

*/*/*/*/*

They’re caught in another media hurricane after Lady Stoneheart’s arrest although Jaime insists on doing their best to live as normally as possible.

He reluctantly helps her with her cases when she bribes him well enough, and one night as they’re all eating dinner, he invites her to attend a red carpet movie premiere.

“Why me?” she says with a frown.

“Because while I’m fond of the leading lady in this movie, I think it’s going to be a dead bore.  I know I can count on you to elbow me awake if I start to snore.”

“You can’t depend on Tyrion to do that?”

“Oh, sure, but before he wakes me, he’ll take video and post it to the web.”

“Yeah, I would,” Tyrion says, nodding.  He leans back in his chair and rubs his stomach.  “I don’t know if it’s your and Nan’s cooking, or if it’s because Jaime’s been relatively well-behaved, but I haven’t had to take any antacid for days.”

Jaime gives his brother a wickedly teasing smile.  “Is this a good time to tell you and Addam that Nymeria and I caused a bar fight in Myr?  Just got the bill for the damages today.”

“Oh, gods,” Tyrion sighs and lowers his head to the table.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne nervously readies herself for the movie premiere.  It’s the first time she’s unveiling the new look that Senelle has created for her.  She goes to Nymeria’s room and says, “What do you think?”

Nymeria whistles, low and long.  “I’m kinda sorry I love you like a sister, Brienne.  You look gorgeous!  And eminently fuckable.”

Brienne blushes even as she rolls her eyes in fond exasperation.  She takes another look at the image in the mirror:  the pale peach-coloured dress that clings and reveals curves created by a magical new bra.  The skirt is slit to mid-thigh and exposes her right leg with every step, and she’s towering in a pair of three-inch, delicate heels.

She nervously chews her bottom lip.  “Well, I can always wear flats if Jaime doesn’t like being so much shorter,” she mutters.

Nymeria snickers a little.  “Let’s go see what he says.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime’s standing at the bar in the drawing room, tall and handsome in a black tuxedo.  He turns to watch her walk in and she’s rewarded with his widening eyes that grow so heated they almost seem to scorch her flesh as he takes in her transformation.

He slowly smiles.  “I told you you had good lines.”

*/*/*/*/*

As the media frenzy quickly moves on to the next big scandal, Jaime decides the time is right to gently—or not so gently—push the boundaries of his relationship with Brienne.  While they’ve been out regularly in the weeks since Lady Stoneheart’s arrest, except for the movie premiere, they’ve only been out because of a case. 

Jaime’s pleased Brienne is getting more comfortable using the skills Senelle taught her and she looks gorgeous when she does, but he does prefer her like this, he thinks as he hands her a coffee and settles on the couch across from hers.  She’s in sloppy jeans and a t-shirt with her bare feet tucked up beneath her.  She looks fresh-faced, her wide eyes more beautiful than ever, and she looks far too honest to be working as a private investigator.

“I’m working on my first new album and tour in five years,” he says, continuing the conversation they started at dinner.  “I don’t know if I’m excited or terrified.”

“Why terrified?”

“After a while, nobody wants to hear anything new.  They just want the memories.”

“And if it fails?” she asks.

He shrugs.  “It fails.  And if the muses allow it, I’ll try again.”  He gives her a half-smile.  “I hear the movie is coming together really well.”

“That’s great!  When is it going to be released?”

“In about two months.”

Her jaw drops.  “That soon?”

“Well, it’s not a big budget movie.  I think the soundtrack is just Pod, humming.  Anyway, he called to say he’s managed to arrange for a limited release in the theatres—about a hundred screens or so—and then it’ll go straight to video.  One of the screens is here, if you’d like to go.”

Brienne grins.  “Of course I’d like to go!”

“Good.  I don’t think I’ll be able to watch myself on screen without some moral support.  And booze.”

She rolls her eyes and chuckles.

_Now or never_ , Jaime decides and leans forward, his famous smirk firmly in place.

“Listen, Brienne…how about we go out to dinner tomorrow night?” he says.  “There’s that new restaurant that just opened up in Old King’s Landing.  Northern cuisine.”

She gives him a puzzled look.  “Dinner?”  She frowns.  “We don’t have a case.”

“I’m asking you out to dinner,” he says slowly, as if speaking to a particularly stubborn child.  “This has nothing to do with a case.”

Her eyes narrow.  “If there’s no case, why do you want to go for dinner?”

His smirk widens into a grin.  “It’s a date, Brienne!  I’m asking you on a _date_!  You know—dinner.  Dancing.  Making out in the back seat of the limo on the way home—”

She flushes and surges to her feet.  “Stop mocking me,” she snaps.  “I thought we were friends!”  She turns and stomps from the room.

Jaime winces as the door slams on Brienne’s broad back then he leans back on the couch with a sigh.

This is going to be more difficult than he thought.

*/*/*/*/*

He calls in a favor and a few days later, Brienne is in the back seat of his limo in a little black dress that leaves her mile-long legs exposed to mid-thigh.  It both amuses and arouses him to watch her tug futilely at the skirt.

“ _This_ dress, Jaime?” she grumbles.  “Seriously?  How am I supposed to get out of the limo without flashing the entire world?”

He perks up.  “Did you go commando, Brienne?” he asks hopefully.

She flushes and glares. “Of course not, you idiot!” she snarls and he gives her a pout that earns him a smack on his shoulder.  “Idiot,” she growls but there’s a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“I can ask Lewys to stop in a discreet location,” he says, “and I will gladly watch you practice exiting the limo and let you know if you’re flashing anyone.”

“Please don’t make me punch you,” she sighs.  “We need your handsome face to be recognizable when we get to the restaurant.”

He grins and leans close.  “You think I’m handsome?” he purrs in her ear.

Her flush deepens and then she looks at him, those gorgeous blue eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion.

“What is wrong with you?” she growls.  “We’re on a stakeout, remember?”

“I remember,” he says, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves, right?”

Her eyes narrow even more.  “So long as we don’t forget we’re _working_ , Jaime.”

He lets his eyes travel from her face down her long, toned torso to her even longer, even more toned legs then back to her face.

“I won’t forget,” he says and smirks at her red face and thinks he can hear her teeth grinding.  Lewys brings the car to a gentle stop.  “We’re here,” he says, and just as he planned, the car is surrounded by a horde of varysazzi, snapping pictures as if their lives depend on it.  Who knows, he thinks as he slides from the car then positions himself so Brienne can exit with a modicum of modesty, maybe their lives _do_ depend on it.

*/*/*/*/*

Over the next several weeks, Jaime uses every imaginative bone in his body to convince Brienne to go out with him when they’re not working on a case together.  Coupled with intimate evenings at home when he can manage to get her alone without Nym or Nan or Tyrion or Addam around, he thinks he may finally be making progress.

Brienne’s glares aren’t quite as suspicious when he invites her out and there’s no case.  Of course, he continues to be her partner when she does have a case and she needs someone to help her get into a location or to watch her back, and if the bribe she offers is sufficiently chocolaty enough.

Then a few days before the release of his movie, he invites Brienne out to dinner and asks her to wear his favourite little black dress that shows off her endless legs.

She frowns.  “What’s the occasion?” she asks.

“Besides the fact we have the house to ourselves for a few days?”

And they do:  Nan has gone North to visit family while Nymeria has gone to Braavos to follow a new lead on Bronn’s whereabouts.  Jaime half-wonders if Nym will come back or if she’ll do to Bronn what Bronn did to Taena.  The thought amuses him probably more than it should.

“Yes,” Brienne says, bringing him back to the present, “besides the fact we have the house to ourselves.”

“It’s a celebration,” he says.  “We finished the last track of my new album today.”

Brienne’s face lights up with a grin.  “That’s wonderful!”

“Plus the movie comes out the day after tomorrow.  This may be the last time I’ll be able to show my face in public.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne wonders why she keeps torturing herself like this.  She’s an idiot, she thinks as they leisurely finish their after-dinner coffees and finally decide it’s time to head home.  Jaime’s hands are warm as he smooths her shawl over her shoulders and she tries not shiver at his touch.

She’s a _bloody_ idiot.  Ever since he teased her— _cruelly_ teased her—about going on a date, she’s been dying a slow death from a thousand cuts.  It doesn’t help that Jaime’s a compulsive flirt but sometimes...sometimes she wonders if there’s something more behind his teasing.

More and more often, she’s begun to wonder what Jaime would do if she were to take one of his teasing comments seriously.  Most of the time she knows he would simply run as quickly as he could from her life but sometimes...sometimes...sometimes what she imagines makes her body burn and ache with yearning.  She thrums a little with desire just thinking about it.

She quickly shakes her thoughts away as they get into the limo.  Jaime tells Lewys to take them home then raises the privacy shield between them and their driver.

Jaime turns to consider her and raises an eyebrow as he looks at her.  She wonders if he can read her thoughts on her face and she blushes.

“The meal was delicious,” she blurts out.  “Thank you.”

“Glad you enjoyed it,” he says cheerfully and she catches her breath as he shifts a little closer to her.  She feels like her self-control tonight is hanging on by a thin thread that’s growing ever thinner.  The fact there’s no one else at the house hasn’t been helping the last few days, and Jaime seems to revel in strolling round the house in snug jeans and t-shirts that cling to his well-defined chest and _gods_ —

“I told you this was a night out to celebrate the completion of my new album, which is going to be released under my own label,” Jaime says, startling her out of her thoughts.

She frowns.  “Yes?”

“Well…I haven’t told you everything.”

Brienne feels a sudden stab of anxiety and her eyes widen.

“Oh?”

“The album is titled _Pretty Pia_ , and a hundred percent of the profits are going to the Jeyne Poole Foundation, in the name of Pia ‘Jazz’ Peckledon.  The Foundation is an activist organization whose mission is to advocate for justice for those victims of crime who get lost or overlooked by the justice system and the media.  Justice for all, right?  Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be striving for?  Hopefully the album will sell enough to keep them operating for a few more years.”

He gives her a grin after he finishes speaking, and but beneath his smug exterior Brienne sees a rather anxious look in his eyes and she realizes he’s hoping for her approval.  There’s something ridiculously attractive and oddly sweet about it all, and the fact he wants her approval causes something to snap inside her and she suddenly doesn’t care if she’s going to make an idiot of herself—

—she launches herself at him.

He’s not expecting it and he falls back beneath her weight, banging his head against the limo’s door.  The sudden movement makes them tumble from the seat into a heap on the floor.

“Oh, gods,” she says as she sprawls awkwardly on top of him.  “Oh gods,” she says again as he winces and puts a hand to the back of his head.

“Oh, gods,” she says for a third time and if she wasn’t dying from embarrassment, she’d literally burst into tears because _godsdamnit_ , she didn’t even manage to get a single good kiss out of the deal.

She starts to scramble away, to get back to her seat, thinking wildly she’ll tell him the car swerved and she just...fell..onto his lips...and gods, she hopes she can find a hole she can crawl into and never come out—

—and his arms are wrapped round her and one of his hands seems to be firmly gripping her ass, holding her still against him.

“Were you trying to kiss me?” he says and she blushes so fiercely she knows her face must be glowing in the dim interior of the limo as they glide past the streetlights.  She bites her lip and she looks away as she gives a quick nod.

His hand tightens on her ass as his other hand goes to the nape of her neck to pull her down to him, and then he’s kissing her and this time, there’s no mistaking it.

*/*/*/*/*

Her pantyhose is in tatters, her undies tossed aside, and his fingers are doing... _things_...wonderful, marvelous _things_ …to the sensitive flesh between her legs that have her seeing sparks behind her closed eyelids when Jaime suddenly stops, lifts his mouth from her neck and looks round, blinking puzzled eyes.

She frowns as she bucks her hips against his hand, trying to coax him to return to doing what he was doing.

“I think the car’s stopped,” Jaime says, although he rewards her with a slick slide of his thumb against the sensitive bud hidden between her legs.

Her eyes slam shut at the sensation, a low moan drawn from her throat as she bucks against him again—and then she understands his words.

Her eyes fly open.  “Stopped?”

He nods and he’s looking at her with a smugly pained smirk.

He slides his thumb against her again and says, “Here?  Or in the house?”

It takes a moment to understand what he’s asking.  She’s tempted to tell him here, in the limo, but the fact there’s somebody on the other side of the partition who most likely knows _exactly_ what they’re doing back here is what decides her.

“The house,” she rasps out then whines—literally _whines_ —as Jaime slowly, reluctantly removes his hands from her body.

“Gods,” he groans, “hold that thought.”

*/*/*/*/*

They scramble to find the pieces of clothing they’d torn off each other and Brienne only then realizes Jaime’s shirt no longer has any buttons.  Her pantyhose and undies are ruined beyond repair, and she wraps what remnants she can find into her shawl.  Jaime pulls on his jacket, she shoves her feet back into her pumps, and he gives her a dark-eyed, burning look.

“You better have the keys ready,” he growls, “otherwise I’m going to end up fucking you on the front step.”

For a moment, Brienne seriously considers the idea then digs for her keys.

“Maybe next time,” she says and bolts from the car.

*/*/*/*/*

They leave a trail of clothes—or pieces of them—from the front door up the stairs to Brienne’s bedroom, where they fall, naked, on to her bed.

There’s a momentary pause when they have the horrified realization that they left any condoms they might have been carrying somewhere on the path to the bedroom.

Brienne stares up at him, panting, and seriously wondering if she’ll survive the time it would take them to find Jaime’s pants.

“Nym probably has some,” she says.

“Do _you_ want to risk searching her bedside drawers?”

They share another horrified stare then Jaime says, “I should hopefully have some in my bedroom.”

“That’s so far away!”

“Six doors,” he says.  “Can you make it?”

“Gods, I hope so,” she says.

*/*/*/*/*

They survive the journey to Jaime’s bedroom—but it’s a close call.

He finds a box of condoms with a triumphant shout and Brienne says, “Thank the gods,” and tackles him to the bed.

*/*/*/*/*

Later, her body boneless and sated, Brienne watches Jaime sleep and thinks she’s never orgasmed so easily before—or so strongly—and she’s never going to have sex that good ever again.

One night stands are just that, she thinks wistfully, then pushes the sadness away.

No regrets, she firmly tells herself as she closes her eyes and drifts towards sleep.  No regrets and no expectations.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime takes one look at her face the next morning as he walks into the drawing room and raises an eyebrow.  “Coffee ready?” he says.

She nods, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, wringing her hands.

“Are you regretting last night?” Jaime asks with bright interest as he strolls to the bar.

“No, no—it was…great.  As you know.  But I just…you don’t have to—to give me the ‘don’t call me, I’ll call you’ speech.  I know I’m not the woman for you, Jaime,” Brienne blurts.

“No?” he says.  His voice is light and amused and she scowls that he doesn’t even seem to care.

It makes her angry even as it proves she’s right to stop this insanity before it goes any further...even if her libido is begging her for just one more night in his bed.  She’s probably never going to get laid ever again, let alone laid _that_ well, and the thought almost makes her cry.

She realizes Jaime has said something and she snaps back to the present.

He’s grinning at her.  “I asked if you’d like something stronger to drink than coffee.”

She flushes.  “No,” she snaps.  “I’m trying to tell you that what happened last night—”

He laughs.  “‘What happened’?  You mean some of the most mind-blowing sex it’s ever been my pleasure to experience?”

She shivers at the husky way he says pleasure and then she shakes her head, clearing it.

“Last night was a mistake, and you know it,” she snaps.

“It most definitely was not a mistake,” he purrs, “but tell me why you’re insisting it is?”

“Because I don’t have one night stands, Jaime!” she snaps, throwing up her arms and pacing the floor.  “I’m not one of your groupies!  I don’t want to just have sex for the sake of sex, and that’s all you can offer me!”

He sips his coffee, his green eyes alight with laughter even as he watches her intently.

“I haven’t offered you anything yet,” he says.

She flushes.  “That’s my point,” she mutters.

“Well, your point is a bit flawed.  I would have preferred to have this conversation a few weeks from now, once you get more used to dating in the public eye, but you seem fundamentally unable to simply enjoy yourself, so I suppose we may as well have this conversation now.”

She’s scowling, confused.  “ _More_ used to dating in the pub—we’re not _dating_ , Jaime!”

He sighs.  “Of course we are, you sweet summer child!  You just haven’t noticed!”

“We’ve been working!”

He rolls his eyes.  “ _You’ve_ been working; _I’ve_ been dating!  And if you paid more attention to social media and the trashy gossip sites, you’d know that as far as the public is concerned, you’ve been my girlfriend for months!”

She gapes at him.  “That’s absurd!”

He shrugs.  “But true, nonetheless.”

“I’m not—you’re—this is some sick joke, isn’t it?  You’re just making fun of me!”

He puts down his coffee cup and steps out from behind the bar.  “I am making fun of you,” he says agreeable, “because you’re as amusing as you are charming.”

She’s mesmerized as he strolls to her and puts his hands on her shoulders.

His smile is self-deprecating.  “I realize I’m not the easiest man in the world to be in a relationship with, but I’d hoped we’d at least make it to the point where you realized we were dating before you broke up with me.”

Brienne feels faint, her mind racing as she remembers the last few weeks.  All those dinners, and movie premieres, and shopping trips, and that trip to the park—the museum—the nightclubs—

“Oh my gods,” she breathes and sinks on to the couch.

“Ah,” he says happily and perches beside her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did tell you!  I even asked you out on a date, remember?  You wouldn’t believe me.”

She barely hears him as she slowly shakes her head.  “But why?” she finally whispers.

“Because you’re amazing,” he says simply, “and I’ve been fascinated by those legs forever.  You’re a good influence on me, you make me want to be a better man, even if I would prefer it if you would stop getting me punched every other day.  Still.  What’s not to love?”

She blinks and flushes.

“Oh, I don’t expect you to believe me,” he says, “and I don’t expect you to love me, too.  I just want a chance to show you that I’m good for you, too, just like you’re good for me.”

“Jaime...” She doesn’t even sound like herself, her voice weak and breathy, like she’s some delicate flower of a woman instead of the woman she is.

“So, how about it, Brienne?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.  “Would you like to go out on a date with me?  There’s a movie’s opening night tomorrow that you might like.  I understand the leading man is quite talented.”

That makes her snort a little and roll her eyes.  “And modest, too,” she says drily.

He shrugs and smirks.  “How about it?”

She stares, then she flushes as she slowly smiles.  “All right,” she says faintly.

She’s rewarded with a quick kiss, that’s followed by a longer, more thorough kiss, that’s followed by an almost desperate make-out session, that leads to her finding herself naked as her name-day, astride Jaime on the couch, riding him towards an orgasm that turns out to be even better than the one she experienced the night before.

As they lie together on the couch, the sweat cooling on their skin, Brienne’s body still humming with satisfaction as she revels in Jaime’s fingers stroking her shoulder and back, Jaime chuckles.

“I told you I’d be good for you,” he murmurs.

She snickers.  “And you are,” she says and closes her eyes.

*/*/*/*/*


	35. Addendum 5:  Mad Jon aka Post-apocalyptic

Brienne sets the older children the task of patrolling the compound’s perimeter while she ventures out to the ruins of the city.

She knows she should take a couple of the oldest children with her—there’s safety in numbers—but this is a fast trip to search for reference books and salvage some parts for what she prays to the Seven will be a watermill and she doesn’t want to put the children at more risk than necessary. Besides, the countryside has been relatively stable for the last few months and she hopes that means the worst of it is over—but she’s not holding her breath. She’d been far too trusting already, she thinks bitterly, and her dreams are still haunted by those poor, broken bodies after the Mountain got finished with them.

The worst is knowing he’s still out there, somewhere, with his men and his cruelty and his... _appetites_. She shies away from the memories. Bile, as always when she thinks of that time, is already rising in her throat and they don’t have so much food she can afford to waste it by puking it up again.

She shakes off the memories and creeps closer to the city. The compound isn’t far from it and she wonders every day if they should put greater distance between their camp and the remains of King’s Landing. But the children have already lost so much; she can’t find it in her to force them from the only home they have left.

She peers from a copse of trees on the outskirts of the city. She has a quarter mile to go before she’s in the city streets themselves and just because she can’t see anything right now doesn’t mean there aren’t people lurking in the dark houses and silent streets. She wonders where the Mountain has gone with his men and shudders at the thought of running into him again.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne enters the city at first light and she’s deep in the ruined streets when the scrape of a boot against pavement has her spinning round, gun at the ready. She peers into the shadows of burnt out buildings.

“Show yourself!” she barks. The gun is rock steady in her hands, and a distant part of her marvels at how much she’s changed from the shy teacher’s aide she had been only two years ago.

“Brienne?” a man asks, incredulous, and Brienne pauses, peering hard at the shadows in which he’s hidden.

“Come out where I can see you!” she orders.

The man shuffles out of the darkness, slim with brown hair, a head shorter than her own six-three, his ordinary face is obscured by a thick, none-too-clean beard. Despite that, she recognizes him easily enough.

“ _Hyle?_ ”

He gives her a grin as he eagerly nods. “Brienne Tarth,” he says. “I should have known that if anyone was going to survive the hellhole we’ve fallen into, it would be you.” He gives her a considering look then nods with pleased satisfaction.

For a moment, Brienne’s blinded by rage. Even now, even after the world has ended, even after most of those mocking men are likely long dead, she remembers the bet, the deceit, the devastating humiliation. It should be less than important now, facing the man who had won the bet, but there’s something about his eagerness, about his expectation that she would be  _glad_  to see him—

“Who else is with you?” she snarls and he blinks, looking startled.

“You know them all,” he says, soothing, still grinning, “they’re old friends. Owen Inchfield, Mark Mullendore, Ronnet Connington.”

“Your friends, not mine,” Brienne says coldly. “What of the others?” There had been so many in the bedroom that night, they had completely surrounded the bed. She still doesn’t know how she managed to not only survive it but to keep moving forward with her head held high.

He looks suddenly sad. “The others…I don’t know.”

“Dead,” Brienne says flatly, and feels no grief for the loss of that jeering crowd: Farrow and Ambrose and Bushy; Raymond Nayland and Will the Stork. Harry Sawyer. Robin Potter. If she had thought of any of them at all over the last two years, it was to hope they had died as painfully as so many others have done. Yet here is Hyle Hunt with three of those bastards who had stood round the bed where she’d given her virginity, and they had all laughed as Hyle took their money.

She stomps those memories back into the box she’d built around them, and fights the urge to raise her gun and shoot Hyle where he stands, then find the others and do the same to them. No one would hold her to account for it, after all; no one would even notice.

But that’s because the world isn’t the way it used to be, and because the world isn’t the way it used to be, she cautiously lowers her gun although she doesn’t holster it.

They need every able-bodied, reasonably trustworthy person they can find, and she’s the only adult in a compound full of children—even if Jon Snow and Robb Stark would be offended by that description. But they’re only fifteen and while she knows it’s impossible, she would like them to still have  _some_  childhood left, even now.

She thoughtfully eyes Hyle. She doesn’t want to believe he and the others have turned into homicidal monsters like the Mountain and his men, but the gods only knows what the new world has made them.

But she’s alone with them in the heart of a ruined city, and she either takes them with her as ostensible allies…or they’ll simply follow her and try to force their way into the compound anyway.

“Do you have food?” she snaps and her eyes narrow as Hyle grins as if he’s won something.

*/*/*/*/*

They spend a cautious night in the ruins after she barricades herself in a cubbyhole with her gun close to hand.

In the morning, she sends Hyle and his friends to find or build a cart of something similar that they can fill with scavenged materials and drag behind them when they return to the compound. Not that she’s going to tell them where the compound is, and she fully intends to walk behind them, her gun in her hand the entire way. She hopes she’s being overly cautious, because even if they somehow deduce the compound’s location and kill her on the way, Robb and Jon and the others will see them long before they find the compound proper, and all the children know sometimes they have to do what needs to be done.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Brienne ignores the memories away and heads to what remains of the Red Keep. She’s hoping the maester’s library is still there and the books are still intact. They have an entire city they can scavenge for materials but it means nothing if they don’t know what to do with it all.

As she makes her cautious way through the deserted streets, she keeps hearing slight sounds behind her. It might be animals, but she suspects Hyle or one of the others is following her. But every time she spins round, gun in hand, to look behind her, there’s no one there. Still, her skin prickles, and she doesn’t holster her gun as she climbs Aegon’s Hill.

She easily gains access to the courtyard of the ruined castle but the entrance to the Rookery is blocked with broken red stones that have fallen from the walls. She considers the rubble and thinks she can clear a path if she just moves two or three of the largest stones.

She holsters her gun—and that, she realizes too late—is her mistake.

They’re on her in an instant, three men she’s fought before, something she realizes between punches and kicks and bites and the pain as their blows land against her flesh, as her nose breaks and blood gushes from it, choking her. They tell her what they’re going to do to her, in crude and lurid detail, and the threats add speed to her limbs as she desperately blocks every attempt to grab her gun out of its holster. She sends one man—Timeon—tumbling while she kicks another—Shagwell—away, and the third’s—Pyg’s—cheekbone breaks with a satisfying crack beneath her right fist.

Then Shagwell jumps on her back and pounds his fists against her ears and she bellows from the agony. She finally manages to tear him off her but both Timeon and Pyg are advancing with maniacal grins—and then three gunshots crack through the Red Keep in rapid succession, and her three attackers drop lifeless at her feet.

The echoes seem to last forever and the resulting silence makes everything surreal, as if she’s in the middle of dream. She stares at the bodies, her mouth hanging open as her nose continues to bleed and her injuries continue to ache. Three on one, she thinks giddily, swaying a little, wishing she could just faint into blessed oblivion. Three on one...and now they’re dead and she doesn’t know if her saviours are going to be worse than what she had just been facing.

Then  _he_  strolls out of the shadows cast by mounds of fallen castle walls, and her jaw slowly drops as her eyes widen.

He’s tall, almost as tall as she is, with shaggy golden hair brushing his shoulders. His thick golden beard can’t hide the sheer masculine beauty and power and arrogance that radiates from him with every step he takes. She’s caught in a dizzying moment of relieved recognition which makes no sense, but it’s fleeting and most likely caused by the blows landed to her head. He prowls round her like some golden beast of prey and she watches him warily, like a mouse watching a cat, and lowers her hand to hover over her gun.

He inspects the bodies, using the toe of his boot to almost delicately push at them, then turns his attention to her.

“You shouldn’t be out by yourself,” he growls.

Brienne wipes the blood from beneath her nose and says, “I can take care of myself.” Even she knows how ridiculous that sounds under these circumstances.

He raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t look like it from where I was sitting.”

She flushes. “They surprised me,” she mutters.

“Yes, I noticed,” the man says drily then slowly rakes his eyes over her and shakes his head. “We are truly living in desperate times if you’re the best they could do.”

Her shock turns to rage.

“Fuck you,” she growls. “Rape is still rape, even if the world has ended.”

He gives her a surprised and amused look. “I agree. Why do you think I shot them?”

She grits her teeth. “Who are you?”

His smile is bitter. “I used to be Jaime Lannister. Who the fuck are you?”

The name is familiar and she scowls. Several of the children at the compound are named Lannister, but that’s not why the name is tugging at her memory. “Jaime Lannister...why do I know that name?”

He shrugs. “In the days Before, I was notorious for murdering the Mad King of Westeros.” He gives her a bitter smile. “Not that it helped. We ended up burning anyway.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne stares at Jaime, eyes wide even as blood continues streaming from her broken nose.

“You’re  _that_  Jaime Lannister?” she says faintly, then finally puts her hand to her face to staunch the bleeding.

His smile is thin. “I used to be,” he says. “Gods only knows what I am now.” He scowls. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for the books,” she says, then hawks and spits out a mouthful of blood.

Jaime glances behind her to what used to be the Rookery of the Red Keep. “Books?”

“Specifically the Grand Maester’s books.” Her voice is nasal and thick, her face swelling and bruising from the beating she endured at the hands of the three men now lying dead at her feet. “Especially any books that have to do with building things.”

Jaime stares in disbelief. “Building things? You think you can rebuild anything in this godsforsaken world with any chance of success?”

She spits again. The bleeding is finally slowing. “What are our choices?” she asks. She turns to look at the blocked path of the Rookery then turns to look at him through bruised and swollen eyes. “Are you going to help or not?”

*/*/*/*/*

The woman is mad, Jaime thinks as he helps her clear a path into the Rookery then follows her inside. Mad, but determined. He decides it’s safer to help her than to try and stand in her way.

Besides...it’s not like he has anything else to do.

*/*/*/*/*

Hyle Hunt and his three friends are about as trustworthy as he is, and Jaime doesn’t know what Brienne—he’d managed to pry her name out of her while they were rifling through the Grand Maester’s library—is thinking when she tells him later that she’s taking the men back to her compound in the forest on the outskirts of the city.

He decides that he’ll leave her to her fate in the morning. He saved her from rape once; if she’s stupid enough to go anywhere with these men, well...he’s amazed she’s survived this long if this is an example of her brilliant decisions.

He watches her barricade herself into a small nook, gun at hand, then spreads his bedroll in front of it. He wraps himself into his threadbare blanket and turns his back to his companions, his own gun at the ready, and listens to the four men speaking in low voices.

“She says she’s the only adult,” he hears one say. “We don’t need to be saddled with a bunch of fucking children!”

“Yeah, but she said there are about twenty of them. There  _have_  to be girls there—and kids grow up.”

Kids? Jaime thinks. Twenty of them? Gods, the woman is as stupid as she is ugly. He makes a note to leave before sunup and relaxes into a light doze that isn’t quite sleep.

*/*/*/*/*

They leave the city the next day, Hunt and his friends pulling sleds filled with whatever they were able to scavenge, including the books Jaime helped Brienne carry out of the Red Keep. They lead the way, Brienne and Jaime bringing up the rear, with Brienne barking out directions when necessary.

Jaime glances at her and raises an eyebrow.

“Do you really think I’d turn my back on this lot?” she mutters and for the first time since the Event, Jaime laughs.

*/*/*/*/*

The compound is in a surprisingly well-hidden considering it’s in a large clearing and includes a number of shacks and a large garden plot. But it’s virtually impossible to see while tramping through the thick forest not far from King’s Landing, and since there hasn’t been any air traffic since the Event, it’s more secure than Jaime had dared hope.

They had also been met about half a mile from the entrance to the compound by four teenagers: Robb and Jon, Dany and Margaery, who held guns on them until Brienne convinced them she was not a prisoner and was indeed leading five grown men to their safe haven.

He turns round, inspecting the small settlement while Jon lets out a piercing whistle. He hears the rustling as children cautiously creep out of hiding and make their way towards them. He turns back to see the children, both boys and girls ranging in age from teenagers to almost-toddlers, some of whom are obviously siblings and—

His heart stutters to a halt as he stares at the three golden-haired children who are staring at him with puzzled frowns.

“Gods,” he breathes. “Joff? Myrcella? Tommen?”

“Dad?” Myrcella says. “Dad!”

And then he’s on his knees in front of them, pulling them against him, holding them as tight as he can, unable to believe they’re in his arms.

And for the first time since the Event, Jaime Lannister cries.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime leaves his children sleeping peacefully in their shack and goes to find Brienne. She’s sitting by a small campfire, alone. Hyle and the others had been given their own shack, and the older children were given the task of watching them.

“You shouldn’t have brought them here,” he murmurs as he settles himself on the other side of the fire.

“How many survivors have you found, Jaime? We’re not stupid. We’re cautious; we’ve been betrayed before and we’ve learned from it.” She sighs. “I would prefer to have left them to rot in King’s Landing, but there are not so many people left in Westeros that we can abandon each other.”

“Is that how you ended up here? One grown woman and twenty children, hiding in the forest?”

She shifts a little beneath his cold gaze but she doesn’t look away. “What choices do we have if we want to survive?” She gives a small shake of her head. “Anyway, I fancy Robb, Margaery, Jon, Dany and Jeyne Westerling would not appreciate still being called children, especially after the last two years.”

“Mayhaps not,” he says. He glances round the clearing. “You’ve done better than I would have expected,” he grudgingly admits, “but you’re still vulnerable.”

“Look at the cities,” she says flatly. “They ended up still vulnerable, too.”

His grim mouth relaxes almost into a smile. “True,” he concedes. “And now you have five grown men as well, some of whom have not seen a woman or girl in two years.”

Her gaze doesn’t waver. “Aye,” she says, “and I’ll geld the first man who lays a hand on any of the children.”

“But not on you?”

Her smile is cold. “If I do not consent to it, then yes.”

“Ah,” he breathes and his smile is cruel. “Hoping you might have a chance with one of them, now that you’re one of the few adult women left in Westeros?”

She surges to her feet, her face burning as bright as the fire. “Fuck you,” she snarls. “You should just be grateful we haven’t murdered you for your weapons.”

His soft chuckle follows her as she stomps her way to her shack.

*/*/*/*/*

He doesn’t know why he’s needling her so much, except she’s going to die, Jaime thinks grimly after Brienne disappears into her shack.

He walks away from the fire to pace the perimeter of the clearing. She’s going to die, and she’s going to take all these children with her. She’s too trusting, and that’s fatal in this new Westeros. Oh, Before the Event, Hyle Hunt and his cronies were probably decent enough people, but that was more than two years ago. Two years of struggling to survive after the Event, two years of coming to terms with the fact that all the people you love are gone and you’re alone.

He stops in his tracks and closes his eyes, struggling to breathe beneath the weight of grief that never seems to ease.

His father and mother. Tyrion.

_Cersei._

Sweet Cersei, vulnerable and fragile. Life with her had never been easy, but he had loved her anyway. His double cousin, they grew up as close as siblings and he had always known what she was like. They never should have fallen in love; never should have married; never should have had children, but it wasn’t until after Tommen was born that he realized just how mentally ill and fragile she truly was. He’s sure she never fully understood what she’d tried to do to the children.

But gods—a part of him had still loved her, even after their divorce. And while she was on her meds, she was...fine. Not his excitingly volatile Cersei, no, but a  _safer_  Cersei—safer for her and him and their children.

And then the Event took her away from him, and—he’d thought—took away their children, too.

He’d been in Meereen when the Event happened, fighting in a conflict caused by reasons he can’t even remember. The children had been in King’s Landing with his parents, going to private school, while Cersei...well, Cersei had once again been in Maegor’s Sanitarium after going off her meds while he was deployed. Tyrion had been in the Summer Isles, and Jaime has always hoped he’d been in some open-air whorehouse, worshipping the god of tits and wine, when the Event happened.

He prays they all died quickly, especially Cersei. The thought of her wandering this devastated world, fragile and beautiful...

He shudders away from the thought.

It took him two years, but he finally made his way from Meereen to King’s Landing. Not because he had any hope of finding anyone alive, let alone his family, but because he had nowhere else to go. Past sins cast a long shadow, even after the end of the world.

Jaime had made his way back to King’s Landing with some vague idea of finding his father’s house and mayhaps killing himself there, on its broken foundation. But in the end, he couldn’t do it. Mayhaps a part of him felt like he didn’t deserve to be given such a quick end when he didn’t know how Cersei died, or his children, or the rest of his family.

Yet here he is: in a hidden settlement controlled by a lumbering, great wench, a hidden settlement filled with children...including his own.

He sighs as he returns to the shacks and the fire.

He doesn’t know what he’s done to be so lucky as to be reunited with his children, but he’s here now, with them, and wherever they are, he’ll be there, too.

And  _somebody_  has to help that far-too-trusting woman protect all these children against those vipers she’s just let in the door.

*/*/*/*/*

The compound in the forest is more secure than Jaime had expected at first sight. After several more evenings patrolling the perimeter, he knows there’s a fence-like structure hidden in the treeline. Further inspection shows it’s not so much a barrier as an early warning system, and he learns from his children there are specific actions for everyone to take if something breaches the perimeter.

Several days later, a muffled clanging sounds through the clearing, and the youngest children immediately stop what they’re doing and run frantically towards the trees behind the shacks. They scramble up rope ladders, into the treehouses hidden high in the branches while the older children grab their guns.

Jaime jogs up to Brienne. “Where’s the breach?” he demands.

She gives him a distracted look from her beautiful eyes, a scowl on her face. “North side,” she growls and leads Robb, Jon, Gendry and Margaery in that direction, with Jaime trotting along in the rear.

“Where are Hunt and the others?” Robb asks.

Brienne rolls her eyes. “Out hunting. They’re probably the ones who’ve breached the perimeter,” she says drily.

They don’t find humans; instead, there’s a family of wild boars snuffling in the grass on the north side of the clearing. Brienne’s eyes light up, and they make short work of shooting as many of the animals as they can before the rest disappear back into the forest.

They spend the rest of the day repairing the fence, butchering the animals, and when they return, Brienne sets Hunt and his friends the task of readying the smokehouses so the meat can be cured and preserved.

There’s already a root cellar and several large, aluminum barrels they use as cisterns. They don’t hold much water, but it’s enough to keep them going for several days if they can’t make it to the river. Gendry tells him they’re thinking of building an actual underground cistern if they can figure out a way to make a form of cement to seal it.

Jaime’s reluctantly impressed with Brienne’s determination to build a permanent settlement in this clearing and the way she manages to keep all these children—twenty of them ranging in age from eight to sixteen—focused and motivated enough to keep working and keep going.

Mayhaps she isn’t going to die quite as quickly as he expected.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime hears most of the story from Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen: the school trip to Harrenhal; the Event that happened while they were touring the prison cells of the castle; the eventual decision to make their way back to King’s Landing, with the goal of reuniting the children with their families where possible. But there’s something the children refuse to tell him, something that causes Tommen to shut down as he goes away somewhere inside.

Jaime joins Brienne on her next patrol and broaches the subject.

She scowls and says, “I made mistakes, and people lost their lives.”

Jaime says, “I think that’s happened more often than not in this brave new world of ours.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not, but even Joff refuses to tell me how you ended up as the sole adult responsible for twenty children. It can’t have started that way.”

Brienne is almost stomping by now, speeding up. He easily keeps pace.

Brienne glances at him from the corner of her eyes and grinds her teeth, then says, “We were stranded at Harrenhal. The entire school was there—”

“Did you have a child in the school?” Jaime asks, sick sympathy twisting his gut at the thought Brienne might have lost a child at some point in these last two years. He knows the feeling.

The question surprises a harsh laugh out of her. “Look at me, Jaime.  _Of course_  I didn’t have a child in the school! I was friends with Catelyn Stark. The school needed more chaperones since they were taking all the students to Harrenhal on a field trip. They were desperate for more bodies, so Catelyn asked me to help out, and I agreed.”

“Ah,” he murmurs. His kids had transferred to the best school in King’s Landing when they went to live with his parents after Cersei returned to Maegor’s Sanitarium. That had happened while he was deployed. He had never even seen the school.

“It was the five hundred year anniversary of the Targaryen Conquest,” Brienne says, almost to herself. “Harrenhal was re-enacting the Burning of Harrenhal.” She glances at him and shrugs. “It’s why the school decided on the field trip.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow as he nods, remembering this from his weekly video calls home to his children.

“Pretty dark subject matter for the younger children,” he says.

“The younger children were touring the castle during the re-enactment.”

“Not much better, really,” Jaime mutters.

Brienne flashes him a surprisingly sweet smile, then says, “True. Anyway, we were in the dungeon when the power went out. It took us...I don’t know how long to realize the power wasn’t coming back and we needed to find our way out in the dark. Thank the gods we still had a couple people who were smokers!”

Jaime frowns. “Your cell phones should have been protected from the EMP—”

“It’s a national historic site...or used to be. We turned in our electronic equipment at the gate.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow. “Even the teenagers?” he says, skeptical.

Brienne’s smile is almost amused. “Even the teenagers—or they’d have had to wait in the bus.” She shakes her head. “Even if they hadn’t, we didn’t have any teenagers with us; they were watching the Burning of Harrenhal. Anyway, we missed the Event, although everyone told us how the sky turned as red as blood and then all the power and electronics went out. Phones, computers, cars—nothing worked. Nobody understood just how  _wrong_  things were until several days later, when the power still hadn’t returned and the food began to run out.”

“When did you decide to try to make it back to King’s Landing?”

“A few days after that, while there was still enough food left we could take some with us. There was…” She hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip. “There was a group of men who had decided to try and make it back, too. Led by the largest man I’d ever seen.” She grimaces. “We only saw his strength; we should have seen what was in his eyes.”

“Who’s we?”

“There were eight of us, eight women. Me. Elia Targaryen, Catelyn Stark, Lysa Arryn, Maege Mormont, Briony Hill. Alyssa Frey. Alerie Tyrell. There were seven men: Joss. Raff. Dunsen. Chiswyck. Eggon. A man I only ever heard called Shitmouth, which did not go over well with the mothers. And Gregor Clegane, also known as the Mountain.”

Jaime hisses in a sharp breath.

Brienne’s narrow. “You know of him.”

“Of  _them_ ,” he mutters. “I’ve been in the Riverlands.”

“There’s recent news of them?”

“Oh, yes. And their band has grown.” He sighs. “But the Mountain’s Men have competition: they along with the Bloody Mummers, and the Brotherhood without Banners have unofficially divided the Riverlands between them. What they’ll do when they run out of innocents to terrorize is anyone’s guess.”

Brienne rubs her brow and scowls. “I’d hoped…” She shakes her head and takes a deep breath. “We were eight women, seven men, and thirty children. The other teachers and chaperones decided to stay in Harrenhal with the rest of the children. They tried to stop us so we slipped away in the middle of the night with those kids who wanted to come with us, and those who didn’t have a relative as a chaperone.

“We started walking on the King’s Road but quickly left it—even that soon after the Event, it was no longer safe. We kept inside the forest that parallels the Road and, oh, about half-way to King’s Landing, we stumbled upon a small homestead. It was already abandoned, and we decided to rest for a few days. I took the older children and we went out to set snares.”

She pauses, grief twisting her scarred features. “I never should have left them alone,” she mutters. “We heard the screams and the shouting on our way back. By the time we got there, the Mountain was raping Elia...he was covered in her children’s blood, their poor, broken bodies beside her...and he was  _laughing_.”

Her hand curls round the grip of her gun.

“Shitmouth was cheering him on. The others were raping the rest of the women.” She grimaces. “Shitmouth was yelling something about how he wanted Elia next because he’d killed his woman too quickly just to shut her up.” The knuckles of her hand turn white. “Poor Lysa,” she whispers. Then, more loudly, “They’d barricaded the children in the house. I just thank the gods every day they didn’t start with them, and that I’d taken all the older girls with me.”

They walk in silence, then Jaime says, “What happened?”

Brienne shrugs. “I...went berserk. Thankfully, we’d returned to the yard beside the barn and everyone was too busy to notice us. There was a—a—crowbar or something leaning against the barn and...I grabbed it...and...” She blinks rapidly, lips pressed in a tight line. “Turns out, his mouth wasn’t actually full of shit; just blood and teeth.”

Her face is pinched, but Jaime can’t tell if it’s from rage or grief or horror or nausea or all of them at once.

She says, “The Mountain’s head was full of cement, or at least that’s what if felt like when I hit it.”

Jaime hisses in a sharp breath. “You did  _what_?”

Brienne shrugs. “I had to get him off her.”

They walk through the trees in silence, checking the makeshift fence hidden by brush, making sure the crude alarm system they’d created is still in place.

They work silently until finally Brienne says, “It’s a blur after that. First time I ever killed a man; first time I ever shot a gun.”

“All the other women were killed?” he says.

She shakes her head. “Shitmouth killed Lysa almost immediately but when we attacked, most of the surviving women began to fight back. Then Gendry let the rest of the children out of the house and well…we drove them off pretty quickly from sheer force of numbers, and the fact we managed to keep their guns out of their hands. But the Mountain’s Men killed three more children and Raff murdered Maege Mormont. She at least managed to take him with her. Then we were alone. We buried our dead, left again for King’s Landing, and learned to stand guard and do whatever it took to protect ourselves.

“But Elia...Elia killed herself almost immediately. She couldn’t...her babies...” Brienne shakes her head. “Briony Hill ended up pregnant, but something went wrong. We lost both her and the baby. We lost Alyssa and Alerie the first time we explored King’s Landing and…” Her hand goes to her scarred cheek. “Gendry managed to save me, but he was too late for the others. And Catelyn...Catelyn died the first winter from what was probably pneumonia, along with five of the children.”

“And then there was only you.”

“And then there was only me.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne glances round their settlement and allows herself a moment of cautious pride and optimism. She still wishes she could move her band of children back into the city, into real houses rather than the crude shacks they’ve cobbled together, but given the world they now live in, they haven’t done too badly.

They created the perimeter fence, set up an early warning system; built treehouses, hidden high in the branches behind the shacks, so the younger children have a chance to hide in relative safety if the settlement is attacked. They patrol the perimeter daily, and their daily hunting trips outside the clearing are as much scouting expeditions as they are the search for food.

Brienne shies away from the memories of those first few months, after the Event: the aftermath of the Mountain’s Men, King’s Landing, finding this clearing, and struggling to keep everyone together and secure and  _alive_. She’s grateful they’re now at the point where they  _can_  try to make this place a home.

But it’s only a matter of time before they’re discovered by another roving band of outlaws and sooner or later they’re going to run out of ammunition for their guns. They also need to make another trip to King’s Landing before winter sets in, to scavenge materials and scour the libraries still mouldering in the city for more useful books. The watermill is coming along nicely: small, to fit the size of the river at this point, yet it will still allow them to easily and quickly grind what little wheat they can add to their food stores for the winter, and eventually, she hopes, to grind other grains and herbs.

Hyle Hunt and Mark Mullendore step out of the shack the four men had built for themselves. Hunt sees her and gives her what almost seems to be a flirtatious smile. Brienne rolls her eyes and turns away but not before she sees Margaery Tyrell bounce up to Mullendore and pull him away from Hyle with a winning smile.

Brienne hides a sigh. The oldest children are sixteen, going on seventeen, and Margaery’s not the first one who is beginning to think of love and sex. Brienne sees the way Robb Stark and Jeyne Westerling look at each other, and Jon Snow and Ygritte Wildling have been seen more than once with purple smudges on their necks.

She’s had a frank conversation with those children who are now teenagers even though her cheeks were practically glowing from embarrassment. Still: better they all understand the risks especially since she can’t stop them. She has a small patch of tansy growing beside her shack and still has last year’s supply of moon tea for whenever the girls may want or need it. She remembers Briony Hill and shudders.

As for the five grown men, well, she told them again she would regret having to geld them and therefore remove what may be necessary future diversity out of the gene pool, but she would do it nonetheless if they laid one finger on any of the younger children, or on the older children without their consent.

Jaime had laughed then turned to the other men and told them he’d happily help her.

She sighs.

_Jaime._

He’s in the clearing, shirtless in the warm late spring sun, chopping wood. Brienne tries to watch him without appearing to watch him. He swings the axe, the muscles of his back moving smoothly beneath his skin and a shiver runs down her spine and turns her limbs to liquid.

She’s a fool, she tells herself grimly as he drives the axe into the stump they’re using to chop wood and gathers up the cut logs. She watches as he carries them to the lean-to they’ve been steadily filling stocking then she glances up at the hot sun blazing in the bright blue sky.

It may be late spring, with summer still to arrive...but winter is coming.

She turns to her passel of children as Tommen reluctantly joins them.

“All right,” she says, “are we ready to go check and reset snares?”

Arya nods a tangled head and Brienne absently notes she’s going to have to shave the girl’s hair off again because they’ll never get a comb through it now. Sansa and Tommen both look a little sick at the thought of the dead rabbits. Brienne wishes she could put them exclusively on other tasks, but if they’re ever separated from the group, they need to know how to survive, and that includes setting snares and skinning rabbits.

Myrcella looks resigned to the task, while Bran and Lyanna look almost as eager as Arya. As for Joffrey...Brienne glances at the sullen golden-haired boy and hides a shudder of distaste. He sometimes seems to get so much pleasure out of seeing the poor furry bodies in the snares that she’s almost afraid to turn her back on him or leave the younger children alone with him.

She glances back towards the lean-to just in time to see Jaime step out and look over in their direction. He raises a hand in a salute that she awkwardly returns then leads the children towards the gate. When they get there, she glances over her shoulder and finds Jaime staring after them. Their eyes meet and for a moment, she feels like she’s pinned to the ground by his stare...then she turns and leads the children into the forest.

There’s no point yearning for something she’ll never have, she firmly tells herself. He probably wouldn’t be any better than Hyle, anyway.

*/*/*/*/*

After several very warm days, Brienne tells Margaery and Jeyne Westerling she’s going to the pond and slips away from the clearing.

The pond is a part of the river where the banks are wide apart and the water is placid. The water comes to Brienne’s mid-chest at its deepest point and the bottom is filled with smooth rocks and sand. She brings the children here sometimes to teach them to swim and to just allow them to be children. But everyone knows that if she’s going to the pond by herself, then it’s because she wants some time alone.

Brienne strips, leaving her clothes on the sloping river bank and steps into the river, the sun warm on her skin. She ducks beneath the surface and she swims for a while, then floats on her back. She stares up at the clear blue sky until her eyes burn, then she closes them and dreams she’s back on Tarth. Behind her eyelids, she leaves the water and dresses in different clothes, then returns to Evenfall Hall where she greets her father, who grins his wide grin and tells her she’s almost late for dinner.

Her eyes prickle with tears and she blinks them away. She stands then lets out a squeak of indignation as she realizes she’s no longer alone. She instinctively crosses her arms over her meagre breasts and drops down until the water is lapping at her chin.

“ _Jaime!_ ” she sputters angrily. “What are you doing here?”

“Margaery told me you were at the pond.” He glances round then gives her a smirk. “You’ve been holding out on me. Who knew we had our own bath?”

He pulls off his shirt then raises an eyebrow. “You don’t mind if we share?”

She bites her lip then shakes her head. She can easily break him in half if she has to, she thinks, but she knows he won’t touch her. Besides, she doesn’t know why, but she really does trust him.

Still…she watches with wary eyes as Jaime strips down on the riverbank.

He’s thin, as they all are, but even so, he’s beautiful. Half a corpse, she thinks, giddy, and half a god, and she doesn’t know if she should laugh or weep or rage at the fact it took the end of the world and being the only adult female in sight for a man like him to notice her.

She brings herself up short.

He’s not here because he wants to fuck her, she reminds herself. Remember Hyle and the others. And—she peeks—Jaime’s cock is limp. He’s not getting in the water because he’s aroused by her. He just...needs a bath.

She averts her eyes as Jaime steps into the pool and glides towards her, breaking the surface beside her. She gives him a baleful glare as he swipes his wet hair back off his face and gives her a glimmer of a smile. His smile widens at her expression before he ducks below the surface and scoops two handfuls of sand from the bottom. He gives her one and begins to use his to scrub at his chest.

He shrugs. “Not as good as soap, but you make do.”

She snorts a little at that.

“You’ve done well, Brienne,” he says after a moment of charged silence. “The compound is secure and well hidden. But you know you won’t be safe here forever.”

“I know,” she says. “I keep hoping...” she stops, chewing on her bottom lip then shrugs. “You’re the only parent we found.”

Jaime pauses in his scrubbing and stares at the wet sand in his palm.

“I had nowhere else to go,” he finally says. “I didn’t think they were alive.”

She hesitates then says, “Do you know what happened?”

He shakes his head. “I, too, was underground when the Event happened, clearing out a bunker filled with insurgents and hoping I wouldn’t get killed in the process. Witnesses told me the whole sky was on fire. Those in Meereen thought it was the Red Comet.”

“But then how—why—?” she shakes her head. “A comet strike should have burned the whole world.”

He sighs. “I don’t know. No one does. All we do know is the power went out and we died by inches.”

“Not here,” she says, her voice bleak. “Here we died by leaps and bounds. It took about six weeks for us to make our way back from Harrenhal. King’s Landing was already deserted, except for roaming bands of madmen.” Her hand goes to her ravaged cheek.

They’d called him Biter, she thinks and shudders.

She realizes Jaime is watching her with a peculiar expression on his face and she blinks away her memories.  _Those_  men, at least, are dead, thanks to Gendry and the others.

“Do you think we should leave here?” she says.

“You may not have any choice, especially if people like the Mountain find you again. There  _are_  other settlements, although the closest ones I’ve found are on the other side of the Blackwater. Some you’ll want to avoid at all costs, but some—well, trading networks and access to more resources are always good, and there’s strength in numbers.”

She frowns and is suddenly struck with the absurdity of having this conversation while they’re standing naked together in a river pool. But the world is no longer amusing and she has the lives of twenty children in her hands.

“How far away are the settlements that might be welcoming?” she asks.

He shrugs, and even as thin as he is, his shoulders are broad, well-defined muscles rippling beneath the smooth surface of his skin. She abruptly averts her eyes and begins to scrub her rapidly diminishing handful of sand over her shoulders.

Jaime says, “There’s one about two days’ journey from here, mayhaps three.”

She scowls. “Should I go and make contact with them? Feel them out?”

Jaime looks at her with a half-smile on his handsome face. “And leave the children alone for that long?”

Her scowl deepens. “I can’t take twenty children into hostile territory. I know we’re vulnerable, but they’re still safer here than out there. I can always leave you and Hyle and the others with them. Or mayhaps I can take all of you with me and leave the oldest children in charge of the others. They’re smart, disciplined, and most of the children have learned to defend themselves over the last two years.”

“Most?”

“Rickon and Tommen are still so young,” she sighs. “I can’t quite bring myself to put guns in their hands yet.”

“I suppose not,” he murmurs. He idly scrubs at his arm with what’s left of his handful of sand, frowning in thought. He says, “Do you trust Hunt and his cronies?”

“No,” she says promptly.

“Do you trust  _me_?”

Her mouth quirks up. “Where are you right now?” she asks drily. “And please note you’re still alive and in one piece.”

He slowly grins. “So, yes, then?”

She flushes and nods.

“I can take Hunt and his friends to this other settlement. Act as your emissary. Sound them out.”

Brienne raises an eyebrow. “And make sure Hunt and the others don’t sell us out?”

Jaime shrugs. “Mayhaps I’ll be able to leave them behind.”

She brightens at the thought then she deflates. “What does it matter? If this other settlement is willing to accept all these children, then we’re right back with Hyle and his friends.”

“With more people to keep them in check,” Jaime says. “You have the six oldest children to help, and many of the others are prepared to fight, but if those men were to work together...”

Brienne scowls. “I know,” she snaps, “we’ve been here before.” She softens. “I don’t want them here any more than you do—or than the children do, either. But there’s so few of us left, we can’t just eject them from the compound. Or at least we need a better reason than ‘they’re creepy’.”

Jaime actually smiles at that. “Unfortunately, I understand. So I’ll take them with me and encourage them to stay at the settlement.” He raises an eyebrow. “We’ll go in a week or so. It depends on how my children react to me leaving again.”

Brienne nods and silence descends between them, broken only by Jaime slipping once more beneath the water and returning with two more hands full of sand so they can finish washing themselves.

It’s not until they’re on their way back to the riverbank that Brienne notices she’d been standing straight in the water as they finished bathing. As they dry themselves and dress, she’s shocked to realize that she feels no embarrassment at the fact Jaime has seen her naked body. She glances over her shoulder at him and mentally shakes her head.

Of course, it’s not as if he’s looking.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne honestly doesn’t understand why she instinctively trusts Jaime Lannister so completely...only that she does. When she worries too long at the question, she ends with telling herself he saved her life at the Red Keep and that’s enough. Or mayhaps it’s because he’s joined her in the river pond several times over the last two weeks and has never once noticed she’s as naked as he is.

She wishes she could say the same for herself. Her dreams at night have become filled with images of Jaime’s naked body, and she wakes, yearning for something she’s refused to allow herself to even think about since Hunt and his friends had so completely humiliated her. If she were a more desirable woman, she would have already begged Jaime to fuck her. Even now, at the end of the world, she knows he would only laugh at her.

She’s embarrassed by the intensity of her lust for the man, worried he might notice, but at night, safe in the privacy of her shack, she tells herself it doesn’t matter. Jaime never has to know she dreams of him in the dark of night as her hands drift to the juncture of her thighs to ease the hunger thrumming through her. There’s so little pleasure in the world right now, she thinks. She imagines him heavy against her, moving inside her as she moves her fingers, and thinks there’s no harm in this.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime dreams of Brienne’s acres of freckled skin and amazing blue eyes, her small breasts that will perfectly fit in the palms of his hands, the thick blonde hair guarding the sweet heat he knows is hidden between her thighs, and wakes, hard and aching and taut with lust.

He lays on his back, trying not to groan with frustration. The children are sleeping in the same room, their soft snuffling sounds filling the small space. He quietly rolls from his blankets and steps outside and lets the air of the late spring evening cool his body.

There’s movement in shadows behind the shacks, and he sees Ygritte and Robb taking their turn at guard. He strolls to the communal fire pit and finds Hyle Hunt sitting by the banked coals, a cup in his hand.

Hunt glances at him, then reaches down and shows him a bottle of whiskey, lifting an eyebrow in question.

Jaime considers it then shakes his head and sits down not far from the other man. He would have preferred to have the pit to himself, to think on Brienne and wonder what it is about her that draws him to her; she’s so unlike Cersei…and mayhaps that’s the reason. He ponders how best to draw Brienne closer without startling her away. She’s so fucking brave and honorable while still rightfully wary. After all she’s seen…

“Are there  _really_  other settlements out there?” Hunt asks, startling Jaime out of his thoughts.

Jaime nods.

“Close?”

“The one we’re going to is the closest one I know. It’s about three or four days away, on the other side of the Blackwater.” He frowns. “You really hadn’t found any?”

“We stuck inside King’s Landing. There were a lot of resources, after all. Shelter. Food. Guns. Ammunition.” He grimaces. “We had to be careful, of course, but still. Pretty easy life, in a lot of ways, especially compared to this place.”

“Why are you here, then?”

Hunt shrugs. “Women,” he says.

Jaime’s eyes narrow. “The girls are only sixteen.”

“Sixteen was the age of consent, Before,” Hunt reminds him, and Jaime scowls. Hunt sees his expression and laughs.

“Don’t worry; I think most of the older girls are spoken for already, and I’m certainly not interested in waiting for the others to grow up.”

Jaime straightens.

Hunt laughs again. “That’s not what I mean! I mean, I, personally, am setting my sights on Big Brienne. Any port in a storm, right? And she’s done a hells of a good job with this settlement. She’s definitely going to be the one in charge for years to come. A woman of influence and power, even if it’s just in this settlement and over children…well, that’s for me.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow. “You don’t want to be in power yourself?”

Hunt winks. “One step at a time, Lannister. One step at a time.” His smile turns mocking. “You know what it’s like to over-reach in your struggle to the top. You killed the King and thought you’d get the Iron Throne, didn’t you?”

Jaime’s face is cold and expressionless. “If I said no, would you believe me?”

Hunt laughs and airily waves his hand. “What does it matter now? The entire royal family is likely dead anyway and nobody cares anymore if you shot Aerys Targaryen in the back or not.”

“You seem to.”

“Well, we can’t pretend you’re not the Kingslayer.” He glances at Brienne’s shack. “She know who you are?”

“Of course.”

“Ah, good,” Hunt says and takes a sip of whiskey.

“Why good?”

“It means you’re no competition…assuming you could get your cock hard enough to fuck her in the first place.”

“What the fuck are you nattering about?” Jaime growls.

Hunt rolls his eyes. “Brienne isn’t the most forgiving soul in the world, and she would never lower herself to fuck you, even if you managed to keep it up long enough to do the job.” He leans closer. “Look, I want a woman. Any woman will do, and if I have to settle for Brienne, well…it’s pretty dark at night now. I mean, I managed to fuck her once; I’m sure I can do it again.”

Jaime stares at the other man with a kind of appalled fascination and only manages to stop himself from shoving his stupid, smug face into the fire by reminding himself that they need diversity in the gene pool.

He seizes on the only thing that makes any sense and doesn’t enrage him to quite the same extent. “You and Brienne?”

“Once. Before.” Hunt laughs. “The guys and I, we had a—” He stops as he sees the expression on Jaime’s face. He blinks and mumbles, “We knew each other in university. It didn’t work out.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow and thinks he needs to ask Brienne about what really happened with Hunt the next time they’re alone. He can’t believe she fell for such an idiot…although mayhaps he hadn’t been quite so obvious Before.

“You think you can convince her to take you back now?” Jaime asks.

Hunt chuckles. “Well, let’s face it: she’s not going to get anybody else, is she?”

*/*/*/*/*

The men are ready to leave several days later. Jaime pulls Brienne aside and they once again go over what Brienne is willing to trade with this other settlement, and what supplies they most need.

“Vegetables, or vegetable seeds for next spring,” she says. “Fruit or plants for next spring. Ammunition, of course, or a recipe for gunpowder. We don’t have much to trade, though. Some smoked meat and…” she frowns, thinking. “Moon tea, I suppose.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “But you don’t want to ask to join them?”

Brienne chews on her bottom lip, her eyes wide and blue and worried. The combination goes straight to his cock, and he edges a little closer.

“Let’s see what kind of people they are,” she finally says and gives him a helpless look from her magnificent eyes. “I have to protect the children.”

He cups her cheeks in his hands and kisses her for that, then kisses her again because of her adorable squeak of surprise at the first one. The third kiss is because she hasn’t punched him or broken his arms, and the fourth…the fourth is because he can’t help himself and he’s rewarded with her lips softening and parting to allow their tongues to dance with each other.

He’s only just pulled her flush against him when he hears Hunt shouting his name. He reluctantly eases away.

“We have to go,” he says, his voice husky.

She’s staring, eyes wide and dazed, her plump lips swollen and red.

“Walk us to the gate,” he murmurs, and she nods, still unable to speak.

He doesn’t kiss her again, but he looks over his shoulder as they leave, and locks into his memory the image of her staring after him, still stunned, with his children standing beside her.

*/*/*/*/*

There’s no time during the days to think of Jaime’s kisses, but at night, alone in her shack…

Brienne allows herself to dream.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime and the others return several weeks later, and when they do, they have four women with them.

The women are sisters. They’re Dornish, and Brienne thinks they’re some of the most beautiful women she’s ever seen. They explain they’re emissaries from the Martell Settlement, and have come to trade with Brienne’s Town. Even she can hear the capital letters when they use the phrase.

Obara Sand is the oldest, the obvious leader of the small group, and seems to have caught Owen Inchfield’s eye. Nymeria is dark and sultry and perpetually amused as Red Ronnet Connington fawns over her. Mark Mullendore seems taken with the youngest of the group, Sarella, which does not sit well with Margaery, and Tyene hasn’t left Jaime’s side since she arrived. In the meantime, Robb, Jon and Gendry are watching all the women with wide-eyed fascination, although Jeyne Westerling and Ygritte glower at Robb and Jon, and eleven-year-old Arya even kicks Gendry in the shins then runs away after she notices him staring at the Sands for too long.

Brienne watches the shifting and swirling dynamics, and her heart sinks into her stomach. These women are obviously dangerous, resilient, and resourceful survivors, an asset to any group struggling to survive…but Brienne has a settlement filled with traumatized teenagers who are just beginning to explore their sexualities.

This is going to be a nightmare.

She sees Jaime’s amused expression as Tyene says something and leans her golden head closer to his.

This is going to be a  _fucking_  nightmare.

*/*/*/*/*

The Sand sisters are most interested in moon tea and explain to Brienne that the Martell Settlement has grown to several hundred people. They need their land to grow food and haven’t managed to find enough wild-growing tansy to provide every woman with moon tea, if they wish to use it.

They inspect Brienne’s thriving tansy garden and eagerly agree to exchange vegetables and seeds for moon tea. They’re also fascinated by all that’s been done in the settlement, although Brienne and the children are careful not to reveal their security measures to them.

The days speed by because if Brienne isn’t with one Sand sister, she’s with another, and between trade negotiations, entertaining their guests, and maintaining the settlement, the only time she’s alone is when she goes to her shack to sleep.

Brienne eventually finalizes a deal with Obara, and they agree she should be able to supply a year’s supply of moon tea for fifteen women in the fall. Brienne also agrees to expand her tansy garden, and next fall, she’ll hopefully be able to supply moon tea for all the women in the Martell Settlement as well as for the girls in her own settlement.

As for Jaime, he’s made no effort to get her alone or to kiss her again, and she’s hurt by that even though she also understands it. His children have glued themselves to his side since his return, and the few times he hasn’t been with his children, Tyene’s been close at hand. Tyene is breathtakingly beautiful, almost ethereal, and Brienne can’t blame Jaime for being enamored even as it hurts her heart. She tries to resign herself to the fact that Jaime and his children will be returning to the Martell Settlement with the Sands, and vows to see them off with a smile.

Adding to Brienne’s tension is Hyle Hunt, who she sometimes thinks is actually trying to flirt with her. It’s annoying, but to be honest, she doesn’t pay enough attention to know for sure.

Just over a week after the men’s return with the Sands, the visiting women are hunting with the older children, the weather is gloriously warm, and Brienne finds herself truly alone for the first time since their arrival.

Spending some time in the water may be just what she needs, Brienne decides, and slips away to the pond.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime notices Brienne’s departure, and after explaining himself to his children, follows her to the pool. She’s already in the water, her back to him as he steps from the trees. He watches her muscles move beneath the skin of her back as she scrubs herself clean.

He shakes his head to clear it and calls, “Brienne.”

She freezes then cautiously turns her head to look over her shoulder. Her eyes are wide and startled.

“What?” she says.

He smirks as he shrugs and begins unbuttoning his shirt. “Just wanted to let you know I was here,” he says.

She drops so she’s covered to her neck as she spins round to gape at him then spins round again as his hands move to his pants. Probably a good thing, he thinks, because he’s already hard and aching, longing to fuck her, but she needs to understand he hasn’t been avoiding her since his return.

“What are you doing?” she manages to squeak.

“I’m joining you for a bath,” he says as he steps into the water. He glides to her and stands, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he stares at the back of her head. “It’s not like we haven’t bathed together before.”

Even her shoulders blush, he discovers, and for some reason that pleases him. He wonders if he’ll be able to persuade her to at least kiss him again if nothing else. Not that there’s any place that looks comfortable enough to lay her down and explore all those freckles. Besides, with Tyene Sand stuck to his side like a burr for the last week or so, he’ll be lucky if he can persuade Brienne not to drown him.

“Are you so craven you won’t even look at me?” he says and she spins round at that, rising to her full height.

He struggles to keep his gaze firmly on hers although he wants nothing more than to look his fill at her body. Her eyes are wide and vulnerable and beautiful, and she doesn’t look away, although he has no doubt it takes every inch of her considerable courage not to do so. There’s a wariness and sadness in her eyes that he hopes he’ll soon be able to ease.

“Hi,” he says softly.

She blinks, a confused frown wrinkling her brow.

“You’ve been extremely difficult to get alone, and between work, my children and Tyene Sand’s determined pursuit, I haven’t had a moment to myself either.”

She rolls her eyes, putting her hands on her hips. “I’ve seen how much you’ve been suffering,” she says drily.

His grin is slow and wicked. “Have you been watching?”

She flushes again and it takes all his willpower not to glance down at her bare chest to see if her breasts blush, too. With luck, he’ll eventually be allowed to look his fill.

Jaime says, “I’ve told Tyene the first time I met her that I’m not available. She says she loves a challenge.”

Brienne frowns. ‘Not avail…?” Her eyes widen.

“Ah, you do remember,” he purrs and puts a tentative hand on her shoulder. He feels her tremble at his touch and he eases closer. “I know I do,” he murmurs and gently presses his lips against hers.

*/*/*/*/*

She’s dead.

She must be dead; it’s the only reason she would be dreaming she’s wrapped in Jaime’s strong arms while they kiss each other as if their very lives depend upon it. And they’re naked, in the pond, and he’s pulled her to him like he wants to absorb her into his very bones and  _gods gods gods_  his cock is hard and pressed against her and  _almost almost almost_ where she desperately wants it.

She hooks a leg over his hip, and her other foot slips out from beneath her and with a squeaking yelp, she falls, pulling him with her under the water.

They scramble back to the surface, coughing and choking, spitting out water.

Brienne is burning with embarrassment, thinking she’s ruined her one chance to maybe have sex with a man who isn’t doing it to win a bet, and then Jaime starts to laugh as he wraps his arms round her.

“We’re ridiculous,” he says, burying his face in her neck as his shoulders shake with mirth. She cringes, then her eyes widen as Jaime says, “Only  _I_  would try to fuck you for the first time while standing in a pond filled with slippery rocks!”

His amusement is contagious and she starts to giggle, and then they’re howling with laughter, clutching at each other as they try not to slip again. In the midst of it all, she registers three things: he said ‘first time’; his hands are stroking over her back, down to her ass, and he’s pulling her flush against him once more; and his cock is still hard and still only  _almost_  where she most desperately wants it.

*/*/*/*/*

They make their way towards the riverbank where they’d left their clothes, still laughing in between deep, heated kisses, stumbling and slipping and almost going back under the water more than once. When they finally leave the pool, they spread their clothes on the ground for a makeshift blanket and Jaime lays her down as sweetly as if she were some beautiful girl; as if this was happening Before, and there was nothing to fear or worry about.

As he joins her, their legs tangling together, hands stroking, mouths tasting and tugging, making each other gasp and buck and squirm; as he finally presses her down and eases inside her, she allows herself to pretend she’s beautiful, and surrenders herself to the moment and to him.

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne’s relaxed, sated, the sun warm on her bare skin.  But it’s not nearly as warm as the weight of Jaime’s arm and leg flung over her, holding her close.  He’s dozing, his breath ghosting against her neck and shoulder, and she fiercely tells herself to remember every touch, every sensation, to burn this moment into her memory.  She closes her eyes and drifts and it almost feels as if the broken world away from this pond doesn’t exist.

She allowed herself to dream in the dark privacy of her little shack and reality has surpassed all her dreams...in some respects.  He’s beautiful and very...she bites her lip to keep from laughing... _enthusiastic_.  There are faint shadows on her hips left by his hands; darker shadows left by his lips on her neck and breasts.  What her dreams flitted over, though, are the marks he will leave on her heart.  It’s those marks that worry her most.

When he leaves her...and he _will_ leave her...

She remembers Hyle, taking money from that crowd of boys standing round his bed.  Remembers the humiliation, the black pit of despair she descended into, and her determination to _not let them win_ that was all she could use to crawl back out again.

She pushes those memories away.  It was a long time ago in experience even if not in time.  The world has forever changed and there are, surprisingly enough, worse things.  She hopes they can convince Hyle and his friends to return to Martell Town with the Sand sisters, and as for Jaime...

She presses her lips tightly together.

Mayhaps she can convince him to stay...but he has three children who take priority.  If he decides they would be safer in Martell Town...well...she can’t beg him to stay.  The safety and well-being of the children are the priority for all of them.

Jaime stirs, smoothing his hand over her torso and down to her hip.  She closes her eyes at the sensation.

“I can hear you thinking,” he murmurs in her ear and she opens her eyes at that, craning her neck to glare at him.

“I’m relaxing,” she says.

“Your muscles are tight, and I don’t think you’ve managed to nap at all, have you?”  He lifts his head and grins as he continues caressing the length of her body with long, slow strokes.

She blinks.  “You were sleeping, Jaime,” she says, flushing a little as she softens beneath his touch.  “How would you know?”

“I’ve learned the art of dozing without sleeping,” he says with a wink and leans in to kiss her.

She relaxes against him, thinking they need to dress and return to the others; her heart will break even more when he leaves if they do this again; she shouldn’t be distracted like this, even if it’s only for a few hours, because the world is too dangerous to let their guards down for long; they may not make it through another winter, and saving the children really should be her only focus.

Jaime pulls her flush against him, and his hands are warm and searching, his kisses deep and hungry.  She meets his hunger with her own, and thinks she can be forgiven for wanting this, for wanting to seize whatever moments of happiness she can find, no matter how fleeting.  The world is ended, she thinks as his caressing hands turn more demanding, making her gasp and arch against him, and if there’s no happiness to be found, then why bother surviving at all?

*/*/*/*

Hyle takes one look at them when they return and his expression turns thunderously contemptuous.  He turns to Jaime and sneers, “So, stole my idea, did you?”

Jaime frowns but before he can speak, Brienne says, “What idea?”

Hyle says, his eyes hard as flint, “Didn’t he tell you?  Martell Town won’t let him in.  Nobody wants the Kingslayer.”

Brienne’s eyes are narrowed.  “What does that have to do with ‘your idea’?  What’s ‘your idea’?”

Hyle laughs, harsh and angry.  “Why, to fuck you in order to control you, of course.  And you’re just stupid enough to fall for it!  Have you forgotten he’s the Kingslayer?  You think he’s not going to kill you once he no longer needs you?”

Brienne gapes and Jaime sees red.  He takes a step towards Hyle, his teeth bared in a snarl then stops in his tracks as Brienne begins to laugh.

Jaime turns to stare at her, shocked that after everything that’s happened in the years since the Event, this is what finally breaks her.

She’s laughing so hard tears are actually rolling down her cheeks.  She pauses, looks with disbelieving eyes at Hunt and then goes off once again into gales of laughter.  Her arms are wrapped round her stomach as she doubles over.

Everyone else in the clearing—those children not on patrol, the Sand sisters, and Hunt’s friends—hurry towards them and Jaime doesn’t know if he should punch the equally confused look off Hunt’s face or if he should throw his arms round Brienne and tell her she’s going to be all right.

Finally, Brienne pauses, gasping for breath and again looks up at Hunt, her eyes swimming in tears of laughter.

“ _That_ was your idea?” she finally manages to say.  “You thought all you had to do was fuck me in order to control me?  _You?_ ”  She starts giggling again and clamps a hand over her mouth, struggling to get herself under control.  “Oh, gods—you really _did_ think you were flirting with me, didn’t you?”  And she’s laughing uncontrollably again.

“Brienne?” Jaime says, treading carefully.  For a moment, he has a sudden, harsh memory of Cersei, the way she was that night he came home to find her putting antifreeze in the children’s food.  She’d been laughing then, too, before she started screaming.

He peers intently at Brienne.

No, he thinks, there’s none of the blank emptiness he’d seen in Cersei’s eyes that night.  Brienne just seems…genuinely amused...and that’s even more confusing.

Brienne finally gets herself under control and she straightens, swiping the moisture from her eyes.

“Hyle,” she says, almost kindly, “you are so fucking stupid, I’m tempted to geld you just to ensure you can’t pass the stupidity on to unsuspecting children.”

Hyle sputters and Brienne shakes her head and holds up her hand.

“You _humiliated_ me,” she says, and now her voice is cold even if she still has a smile on her face.  “You and your buddies.  You treated me like a joke, as something to be used and broken for your own amusement, then tossed away like garbage.”

Jaime draws in a loud, hissing breath and his hand drops to his gun.  Brienne glances at him.

“Oh, it wasn’t rape, Jaime—it was a frat boy bet about which one could ‘seduce’ me into letting them...how did you and the guys put it that night while they were handing you cash?  Ah, yes:  ‘pop my cherry’.”

Jaime’s mind whirls.  “Handing him cash?”

Brienne waves his words away.  “I’ll tell you about it later.”  She turns back to Hyle and his friends.  “The only reason any of you are still alive is because there’s been more than enough death already, and if the human race is going to survive, we need to stop killing each other.  But just because I’ve allowed you to stay here doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten—or forgiven—what all of you did.”

Hyle sneers.  “You’re only turning on us because the Kingslayer fucked you.  He only did it so you would allow him to stay here.  Nobody else is stupid enough to have him, no matter how much he fucks them.”  Hyle’s glance goes to Tyene Sand then back to Brienne, his sneer deepening.

Brienne raises an eyebrow.  “That’s not why he fucked me.”

The tightness in Jaime’s chest eases a little.

“You didn’t know I’d fucked you for money,” Hyle says.

“Well, that makes you a whore, Hyle, but as for Jaime, well, he already knew he was welcome here, if he chose to stay.  Just as you were, just as all the children are.  Even our guests from Martell Town are welcome to join us, if they wish.”  She glances at Tyene then at Jaime then returns her attention to Hyle. 

“Really?” Jaime says.  “You still think...?”  He sighs and rolls his eyes.

She flashes a scowl at him then returns her attention to Hyle.  “I’m no longer that girl you knew several lifetimes ago.”  She smiles a little.  “Even then I wasn’t so easily controlled, no matter what you and your fellow frat boys thought.”  She cocks her head to the side and thoughtfully considers him and his friends.

“You honestly believed it, didn’t you?” she says, and her lips begin to twitch again and she presses them tightly together.  She clears her throat and says, “You honestly believed I would be, what?  Desperate enough to _settle_ for you?  You’re not actually the last man on earth, and even if you were, I wouldn’t take you.”  She shakes her head.  “I think it’s best if you and your friends return to Martell Town when my visitors are ready to leave.”  She glances at the Sand sisters, who are watching her with varying degrees of respect and surprise.  “If they’ll have you, that is.”

*/*/*/*/*

It’s surprisingly difficult to get Brienne alone the next few days.  Or maybe it’s not surprising, Jaime thinks ruefully.  Brienne has barely even looked at him since her confrontation with Hunt and his buddies.

Well, at least Tyene appears to have given up her dogged pursuit, so that’s something.

Not that Jaime, too, isn’t busy.  He patrols the perimeter, teaches the children survival skills, spends time with his own children, and thinks about Brienne.

He knows others in the settlement don’t understand it.  He’s not certain he understands it either.  Brienne is not what one would consider beautiful.  Her face is scarred, her breasts are small, she’s taller than he is and he’s six-two, and she could probably break him in half if she so desired.  She’s as different to Cersei—beautiful, fragile, volatile Cersei—as it is possible to be...and mayhaps that’s part of what draws him to Brienne.

When he looks in Brienne’s eyes, he sees nothing but honesty beneath her wariness and rage.  When he talks to her, he hears the strength that underpins her beliefs and her desire to protect the children.  This hell they’ve fallen into may have scarred her, but it hasn’t broken her, and that makes him want to protect her all the more because of it.

Mayhaps he doesn’t need to understand what draws him to her, or why.  Mayhaps he just needs to accept what _is_.

He sits by the communal fire pit and watches her with brooding eyes as she again demonstrates to the younger children how to tie a snare and inspects their efforts.  The sun is shining on her straw-coloured hair, making it gleam in the sun.

And he desperately wants to fuck her—or at least hold her—again, although that should really go without saying.  At least to her.

He glances at Hunt sitting on the opposite side of the fire pit and Jaime can’t help smirking at the sight of the other man’s bruised and swollen face.  Hunt and his friends have been approaching him the last few days, separately and together, trying to get him to admit he’s only interested in Brienne because he wants control of the settlement and the children.  After all, he once murdered a King in a failed attempt to gain the Throne.

He just sneered and walked away from each encounter...except one.  Hyle Hunt made the mistake of daring to ask if Jaime had closed his eyes and dreamed of another woman while fucking Brienne, like Hunt had done.  Jaime’s fist broke the bastard’s nose with a satisfying crunch.

Hunt and his cronies can’t leave soon enough, as far as Jaime is concerned.

Jaime watches as Brienne smiles at the children then strides away to her shack.  He stands without sparing a glance for his companions and hurries after her.

Mayhaps he can convince her to at least talk to him; to at least tell him if she believes Hunt’s accusations or not.

He knocks.

There’s a moment of silence and then Brienne opens the door.

She looks at him in silence, her face expressionless, her beautiful eyes wary.

“Martell Town really won’t let me in,” he says, “but that has nothing to do with what happened at the pond.”

She blinks and Jaime wonders what she’d say if he told her all he wants is to stay here, with her, and drown in her eyes.

He says, “I’m not going to dignify Hunt’s accusations with a denial, but if you want me to go, I’ll go.  I won’t go far because I have to be near my children, but I can live outside the settlement if that’s what you want.”

She frowns as she tilts her head to one side.  “Why would I want that?”

He scowls.  “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Well, I was embarrassed that everyone knew what we’d been doing just from looking at us.”

Jaime raises his eyebrow.  “Really.  That’s it?”

She flushes.  “Well…” she looks down and shifts uncomfortably.  “I’ve started my period,” she mutters.

Jaime frowns.  “And?”

Her blush deepens. “And…well…you know…”

Jaime’s frown deepens.  “Do you think this is just about sex?”

She flashes a quick glance at his face before she looks away again.

“You do,” he says, his frown clearing.

“Well, what else is there?” she mutters.

Jaime bites his lip to keep from laughing.  “Well, sex is definitely important,” he says, his voice so solemn she finally looks at him long enough to give him a suspicious glare.  “It’s been a long time for me,” he says with a shrug.  “But I didn’t fuck you _just_ because I wanted to fuck you...although I really, really did want to, just in case you didn’t notice.  But this...what’s happening between us...this is also fueled by your bravery and strength and determination and optimism and the way you’ve done everything you can to protect the children in your care and the way you don’t take any shit from anybody and a million other things there’s not enough time in the world to describe and they all make me want to fuck you again until you scream my name.”

Her head jerks up at that, her eyes widening and darkening.  She quickly cranes to look round him.

“Jaime!  You never know who might be listening!”

Jaime shrugs and leans a little closer.  “Let them listen.  We’ll tell the younger kids I’m tickling you unmercifully.”

She blinks at him then a reluctant smile curves her lips.

He smiles as some of his tension eases.  “Did you believe what Hunt said?”

She snorts a little at that.  “I don’t believe anything Hyle says,” she says drily.  “Like I told him, you didn’t have to fuck me to stay here and we both knew that before that day at the pond.”

“So why have you been avoiding me?”

She shrugs.  “Tyene is beautiful.”

“Yes, she is,” he says, “but she isn’t you.”

“There’s nothing special about me.”

“Let me decide that, okay?”

She scowls.

He leans closer and murmurs, his voice low and dark, “Let me in and I’ll show you just how special you are.”

She licks her lips and he almost groans.  “I—I—like I said, I’m on my period.”

Jaime reaches out and cups her cheek.  “I’m not talking about sex,” he says, “although I’m not averse to a hot make-out session, if you’d like.”  He smiles.  “Do you have bad periods?  Do you need a back rub or something?”

She gapes at him.  “A back rub?”

He shrugs.  “Cersei used to get really bad cramps.  A back rub seemed to help.”

“I...I’ve never had a back rub,” Brienne says with dawning interest.

“Then let me in.”

She slowly smiles and steps aside.

*/*/*/*/*

A few days later the Sand sisters leave, taking Hyle, his cronies and Margaery Tyrell with them.  Brienne isn’t surprised; Margaery’s smitten with Mark Mullendore and even though they tried to convince her to stay, she’s determined to stay with the man she claims to love.

Life is a little more difficult now that Margaery and the others have left them, with only five sixteen-year-olds and two adults left to protect the others.  Still, it’s peaceful enough and even...Brienne barely dares to think the word:  _happy_.

*/*/*/*/*

Late spring turns to a summer filled with long, hot, dry days and Brienne’s grateful they settled so close to the river.  They finally finish the waterwheel and she and Gendry, Robb and Ygritte go to King’s Landing to scavenge pipes and eaves troughs.  When they return, Gendry, Edric and Mya cobble together a makeshift irrigation system so they can water their far-too-meagre crops even as day after day passes without rain.  The days are endless as the heat and the sun dry out the trees that surround them.

Brienne and Jaime drill into the children the need to be careful with their communal fire, the need to watch for sparks and to ensure any fire is banked or completely out before going to their shacks for the night.  Jon Snow and Jeyne Westerling work with the younger children to build rafts that they keep ready on the river bank while Jaime trains all of them—even Rickon and Tommen—on evacuation procedures.

“At least the river’s relatively calm from here to the Bay,” Jaime mutters one afternoon as he’s out hunting with Brienne.

She nods.  “Still deep in parts.”  She shakes her head and sighs.  “It rained more last year.”

Jaime smirks at her.  “You can’t control everything, Brienne.  And you and the children have made enormous progress in just two years.  More than some others have done.”  He grimaces then shakes his head.  “You’ve built shelters, established and maintained a protective perimeter.  You’re growing, gathering and storing food for the winter.  You have water, and you’re close enough to what’s left of a city to scavenge what you need when you need it.”

“But it’s not going to be enough, is it?  We’re not going to be able to stay here, are we?”

Jaime hesitates.  “We can,” he says and shrugs.  “I just don’t like not having a line of sight.”

“Nobody can find us unless we show them where we are.”

“That’s not quite true anymore.  Hyle Hunt and his cronies have no reason to protect us anymore.  Martell Town is friendly enough at the moment...but what if they run low on resources and they know we have them?  What then?”

He looks round at the trees and underbrush.  “We’re hidden; but so is anyone who comes looking for us.”

“So what are you suggesting?” she growls.

Jaime sighs and rubs his temple.  “I want someplace high, so we have a line of sight in all directions.  Someplace we can fortify with food and water, weapons and ammunition.  Someplace where we can withstand a siege, if needed.”

Brienne stops and turns to stare at him.  “You want a castle,” she says flatly.

He quirks a smile.  “I want a castle.”

*/*/*/*/*

There’s two years’ worth of dust in the lobby of Baratheon Tower, the tallest office building in King’s Landing.  The rioters had been here, too, at some time during the fall of King’s Landing.  Brienne can see where the scorch marks of fires long cold scar the walls.  She wonders what happened here, how the fires went out.  For a moment, she can see the screaming, raging crowds and wonders if there was anyone here trying to stop them.  Wonders if beneath the rubble lie the bones of someone just trying to stem the madness.

She wonders what it was like in those expensive offices immediately after the Event.  It must have been annoying at first...at worst...after the power went out.  Mayhaps it was a little frightening once they realized they needed to evacuate the building by walking down a pitch black stairwell.  Mayhaps a few of them had flashlights that still worked...mayhaps.

She wonders how long people waited before deciding to leave.  She wonders how it felt to make that long, slow trek down that dark stairwell, the relief as they made the street...only to realize the vehicles don’t work either.  She wonders—

“Stop,” Jaime murmurs and she turns, blinking.

“Don’t think about it,” he says, kindness beneath the stark grief in his eye.  “Don’t imagine it.”

“How...?”

His half-smile is sad.  “Cersei was institutionalized in Maegor’s Sanitarium.  Sometimes it’s like a waking nightmare when I think about it too much.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.  Me, too.”  He looks away. “Let’s find a stairwell.”

*/*/*/*/*

They light their lanterns and climb, carefully and slowly, to the top floor and from there, they find the ceiling access and step out on the roof and into the heat and the sun.

“Thank the gods it’s only twenty storeys,” Jaime groans.

“Bloody high enough,” Brienne mutters.

“Going down will be easier.”

They walk to the edge and Brienne scans what she can see of the city while Jaime peers through binoculars at Visenya’s Hill.

She slowly turns and walks to the northern edge of the building.  There’s the Hill of Rhaenys, where the remains of Rhaegar’s Palace still stand.  At the foot of the Hill is Flea Bottom—revitalized into a trendy shopping district—now nothing but burnt-out ruins. 

“There are people living in the ruins of the Great Sept,” Jaime calls.

Brienne frowns.  “It’s on a hill, easily fortified.  Makes sense.”

“And there’s some land available for crops, which I can see are growing.  It looks like they may have some animals, as well.  I see fences.”

Brienne’s mouth suddenly waters.  “Cattle?” she asks hopefully.  She’d dearly love to taste beef again.

Jaime’s grin is fleeting.  “Mayhaps.  I can’t see anything in the fenced areas.  Mayhaps whatever animals they had have died.”

Brienne deflates.  “Mayhaps.”

He joins her on the northern side of the roof and lifts his binoculars to peer at the Hill of Rhaenys and the rubble of King Rhaegar’s silver palace he had built after the death of the Mad King.  Even now those parts of the palace not blackened by fire still gleam in the sun.

Jaime says, “You really weren’t exaggerating when you said King’s Landing was burning.”

“No,” she says, her voice soft.  “I’m amazed so much of the city is still undamaged.”  She sighs.  “Of course, it would have been worst round the Palace.  When people want answers, they turn to the King.”

Jaime lowers the binoculars and looks at her.  “Did you ever talk to other survivors?”

“Oh, yes,” she says, “we saw a lot of refugees on our way to King’s Landing, although we tried to keep the children safely out of sight.  There were almost a million people in the city, after all, and most of them were trying to figure out where to go and what to do.”  She grimaces.  “I don’t know what happened to the King.  For all I know, he’s still there, living in his broken Palace and trying to rebuild the world.”

Jaime snorts.  “Mayhaps King Rhaegar could surprise me for once,” he mutters as he lifts the binoculars once again to his eyes.  “But all those people… _gods_ …”

“Don’t imagine it,” Brienne says quietly.  “I’m sure it was the same as in Meereen, or any other city.”

“Mayhaps,” he says, his face grim.  “Doesn’t make it any better.”

“No.”

They’re silent until Jaime finally says, “There are people at the Palace, too, I think.  Or at least there have been.  I can see what looks like campfires.”

Brienne nods and they walk to the eastern edge of the roof and stare at the Red Keep.

“Funny,” she mutters.  Jaime raises an eyebrow and she shrugs.  “Rhaegar’s Palace is destroyed but the Red Keep still stands.”

Jaime’s smile is bitter as he once again looks through his binoculars.  “Somewhere, I can hear the Mad King laughing.”

*/*/*/*/*

They spend the night on the roof.  The air is hot even after the sun has set, and they search for signs of life in the remnants of the city as lightning plays on the horizon.

Even now, Brienne thinks, there’s a kind of harsh beauty to it all as they see, here and there, the wink of light that proves there are still survivors in the ruins.

“Get some sleep,” Jaime finally says.  “I’ll take first watch.”

Brienne nods and kisses him good-night.

*/*/*/*/*

“Can we defend this place?” Brienne says the next morning as they eat their breakfast of smoked pork, flat bread, and water.

Jaime shrugs.  “We can defend any place,” he says.  “The more important question is how long the building will stand.”

Brienne frowns.  “Hundreds of years,” she says.

“Will it?”  Jaime shakes his head with a frustrated sigh.  “I wanted to use this as our castle, but without an HVAC to circulate air, we’ll likely need to remove at least one panel of glass in whatever floors we occupy.”

Brienne frowns.  “It’s a closed system, yes, but we wouldn’t suffocate in that building for years!”

Jaime grunts in frustration.  “I don’t know enough about how high-rises were built to know if there’d be enough fresh air seeping into the building even without an HVAC—but we also have no way to maintain the building.  If windows weaken and fall out, there’s nothing we can do about it, except board up the empty spaces.  And while we could use the roof for a garden, it’s not enough space to grow enough food to sustain a growing population over any length of time.”

Brienne raises her hands in surrender.  “This place was your idea!”

Jaime sighs.  “I know.”  He gets to his feet and wanders towards the eastern edge, scowling at the Red Keep.  “Gods.  The last place I want us to call our own is the Red Keep,” he mutters.

Brienne frowns.  “I know it has a lot of bad memories for you—”

“Do you?”  He turns and glares, his eyes cold and angry.  “You have no fucking idea all the memories that heap of stone holds for me!”

Brienne blinks, taken aback, then she says, quietly, “No.  I don’t.  But I do know we can’t allow those memories to hold us hostage.”  She touches her scarred cheek.  “We need to keep going anyway.”

Jaime immediately looks shame-faced.  “Brienne—”

“It’s all right,” she says and gives him a half-smile.  “Really.  But you wanted a castle and _that_ —” she nods towards the Red Keep— “is the only one I see.”

*/*/*/*/*

They make their way to the Red Keep where they spend a couple of days searching through the various buildings of the castle and sleeping at the top of the thick wall that protects the castle.  They take turns standing guard and watching, waiting to see if anyone creeps out from some secret corner of the Red Keep.  By the end of the third day, they decide they must be the only people there...except for the bones of the men who had attacked Brienne the day she met Jaime, remnants of whom can still be seen at the foot of the Rookery.

They take the bones and throw them from the eastern wall, then cautiously explore the Red Keep with an assessing eye.  There are spacious albeit overgrown gardens within the walls of the castle and they discover the ancient and heavy portcullis can still be raised and lowered using chains and pulleys.

“I’m amazed it still works,” Jaime murmurs as he raises it again and she nods.  “It’s been what?  Ten years since King Rhaegar abandoned the place?”

“About that, yes,” she says and shivers.  Despite her brave words on the roof of the Baratheon Tower, the Red Keep symbolizes the bloodthirsty madness of King Aerys II.  Too many people passed through this very gate only to disappear behind these imposing red walls; there were too many whispered stories of the atrocities committed in the Mad King’s name.

She shivers again.

King Rhaegar tried to make a new start by building a palace, not a castle, on the Hill of Rhaenys, and the Red Keep was something that most people did their best to pretend didn’t exist, especially after Maegor’s Holdfast was converted to Maegor’s Sanitarium.  Brienne supposes she shouldn’t be so surprised that none of the survivors in King’s Landing chose to live here.

She glances at Jaime.  “You really think we’ll be safer here?”

He sighs.  “I don’t know,” he says, “but here we have walls and a portcullis, and we can see what’s coming at us…to a certain extent, anyway.  In the forest, we’re hidden, but so is everybody else, and we’re far too vulnerable to animals and nature.”

“We have nineteen children.  It would be virtually impossible to defend this place.”

Jaime gives her a grim nod.

“True.  But we can’t stay in the forest.  And there’s something more, depending on how long-term we want to think.”

Brienne gives him a puzzled frown.

“The settlement is on the river, a bit downstream from where the Gods’ Eye River meets the Blackwater Rush.  Both of those were dammed almost a hundred years ago.  Nobody’s maintaining those dams now.”

She pulls in a sharp, hissing breath.  “How much water is in the reservoirs?”

“Enough to wipe out everything in its path all the way to the Blackwater Bay, no matter which dam breaks.”

“But it should take at least a hundred years before either dam fails.  Right?”

Jaime gives her a wry smile.  “Right.  Or it could happen tomorrow.”

*/*/*/*/*

They make their way onto the walls of the Red Keep and walk to look south and across the mouth of the Blackwater Bay.

“Martell Town is another day’s walk in that direction,” Jaime says, pointing.

Brienne squints, and imagines she can see, very faintly, small columns of smoke twisting into the sky, although mayhaps it’s only wishful thinking.  At least she knows they’re a form of ally, unlike the unknown survivors living here in King’s Landing.

They stroll the walls to look to the west, towards their own settlement.  Jaime lifts his binoculars to his eyes, then growls a curse.  He shoves them at Brienne and she looks through them with a puzzled frown.

Then she sees it and she freezes in horror, her hand gripping Jaime’s arm.

There, on the horizon, in the depths of the forest—

“ _Fire_ ,” she whispers.

*/*/*/*/*

It takes them only a day and a half to get back to the settlement, jogging and walking, and sleeping only for a few hours before moving again.  Mixed with the smell of summer wilting beneath the heat of the sun is smoke, and Jaime wonders how far the fire has travelled if they can already smell it.  The wind had shifted in the night, and he thinks it’s now behind the flames.  Fear grips him in a way he didn’t think was still possible after the Event and all that has happened since.

By the time they get to the settlement, the smoke is growing steadily thicker and Jaime imagines he can hear the fire as it steadily eats its way towards them.

They find most of the younger children huddled in the settlement, but the five oldest and Bran are gone.

“They’re trying to see where the smoke is coming from,” Sansa explains.  “They’ve taken Bran because he’s the best at climbing trees.”

Jaime glances at Brienne.

“We should be ready to evacuate at a moment’s notice,” he says.

She nods, grim-faced yet determined.

They know what can happen with forest fires.  In the days Before, he’d seen the videos of the evacuations of the Riverlands, people barely escaping with their lives through walls of flames.  If the wind continues in this direction, or gets stronger, pushing the flames ahead of it even faster and sending sparks flying ever farther...

Brienne claps her hands together.  “Right.  We’ve practiced this.  Sansa, Joffrey—take two children each and start loading as much of the food as you can onto the rafts.  Mya, Edric—take the rest of the children and start packing what’s necessary out of the shacks.”  She turns to Jaime.  “Go with Sansa and Joffrey.  I’ll go with the others.”

Jaime nods.  “What we can’t take with us, we’ll put in the root cellar and the cistern.”

As he hurries the children away, he hears Brienne say to her group of children, “We’ll use blankets to wrap everything.  Come on, let’s make it a game.”

Jaime turns round at that and yells, “I fucking love you, Brienne Tarth!”

She spins and gapes at him.  He grins and salutes her, then turns and hurries after his own passel of children.

*/*/*/*/*

By the time the rest of the children return, the smoke is obviously thicker and Brienne imagines she can hear the crackle of the flames even though the others assure her the fire is still a long ways away.

“But heading in this direction,” Jon says, his face grim, “and moving fast.”

Brienne glances up at the sky.  Night is falling, and fire never sleeps.  She looks at Jaime, who gives her a grim nod.

“We leave tonight,” she says.  “Throw anything else you hope to save into the root cellar, then we’ll launch the rafts and go.”

They make short work of it, and she leads them to the river where she and Jaime get the children on the rafts and launches one raft after another before it’s finally time for them to get on their own raft.

She wants to look back, to remember this small place of safety they had carved out for themselves:  the shacks, the cistern, the root cellar, the waterwheel.  She wants to weep at leaving it all, at taking that illusion of stability and safety away from the children yet again.

But there’s no time for such luxury.  The thickening smoke is making darkness fall even faster.  She glances at Jaime and gets on the raft, and he pushes them away from the bank and into the middle of the river, and then they’re caught by the current and all they can do is hold on and let the river carry them where it may.

*/*/*/*/*

Night has long fallen by the time they make it out of the forest and Brienne is weak with relief as they finally run their rafts aground and pull both the rafts and the children on to land.  They’re still not safe, but King’s Landing is now less than a day’s walk away, and there’s at least the promise of shelter there.

Jaime walks to where she’s busily getting a small campfire started while the children ready their bedding for the night.

“You know we have no choice now, right?” she says, glancing up at him.  “We need the Red Keep.”

He nods.  “I know.  There’s no guarantee this fire won’t reach King’s Landing.  The Red Keep is made of stone, it’s on a high hill, and it’s actually a working castle.  It may be the safest place in the city.”  He frowns.  “But we won’t be the only ones who know that.  If the fire reaches King’s Landing, we won’t be the only ones looking for safety.”

She sits back on her heels and gives him a steady look.  “I know,” she says, “but we have no choice.”

*/*/*/*/*

They cannibalize the rafts and use the materials to build sleds that they take turns pulling towards the city.  They reach the Tourney Grounds and stop for the night.  As night falls once again, they can see the glow of the fire in the sky behind them as it steadily eats its way closer.

Once most of the children are asleep, and Robb and Gendry are standing guard, Brienne walks back the way they had come, staring at that red-orange glow.  The wind has picked up, and while it’s feeding and driving the fire, it at least helps to keep the smoke here to a thin haze.

Jaime quietly steps to her side and slips an arm round her waist.

“We were building a _home_ ,” she whispers.

“I know,” he whispers in her ear, pulling her close.  “We’re just going to have to build a new one.”

She turns towards him, wraps her arms round him and buries her face in his neck.

*/*/*/*/*

Later, after they’ve finished their own guard duty and finally sought their makeshift bed, Brienne snuggles closer to Jaime and whispers, “You told me you loved me.”

“I did.”

“Why did you say that?”

“Because it’s true.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne takes the lead as they straggle through the streets of King’s Landing, and the back of Jaime’s neck prickles every step of the way. 

They spent almost four days and nights in the Red Keep without seeing any sign of survivors within its walls, but the castle is huge.  Still, he supposes if there are people hiding deep in its walls, they’ll show themselves soon enough.  He just hopes they’ll be able to survive it if they do.

Jaime closes the portcullis behind them with relief and follows the others into the heart of the castle.  He finds the children huddled in a cluster beside the sept.

Jaime puts down the leads of his sled and goes to stand beside Brienne.  Together they slowly turn and look round them.  His gaze slides over the remains of Maegor’s Sanitarium—once known as Maegor’s Holdfast.  Its walls have fallen into rubble and are black with scorch marks.  From the looks of it, bombs of some kind had been used to destroy it.  The first time he’d seen it—the day he rescued Brienne from her would-be rapists—he’d wondered if the building had been destroyed by its former residents.

Like Cersei.

He shies away from the thought and turns to look at the still-standing walls of the Throne Room.  For a moment he hears the Mad King’s voice echoing off its walls.

Too many fucking ghosts in this place, he thinks, and turns away.

*/*/*/*/*

They set up their living spaces in the White Sword Tower, mainly because its single entrance is easily barricaded, there are no windows near the ground, and the winding staircase means any attackers who can break through the door would have to climb up one at a time.

“Of course, it means we’ll be descending one at a time, too,” Jaime mutters and Brienne shushes him.

*/*/*/*/*

It doesn’t take long to get settled, and that night, after their return from guard duty, Brienne admits to Jaime that it feels almost decadent to be sleeping in a real bed again, even if it is a bit dusty.

Jaime’s grin is wicked as he rolls on top of her.  “Well, I, for one, am going to enjoy having a completely private bedroom,” he purrs and kisses her.

*/*/*/*/*

They cautiously explore the still-intact buildings of the castle, and Brienne and Jaime go on the walls several times a day to check on the fire.  The air is filling once again with thick smoke that clings to their clothes and clogs their lungs, and Brienne is worried about Dickon Tarly’s increasingly laboured breathing and hacking cough.  She’s told him to stay inside as much as he can with the windows closed, and hopes that will be enough.

Each evening the fire gets closer and she thinks it may have now progressed far enough to destroy their little settlement, their water wheel and their communal fire pit and their homes.  She sighs.

“We’re alive,” Jaime says, putting his arm round her.  “The children are alive.  We have food and shelter and at least some small measure of safety.  If we’re lucky, everything we put into the root cellar will still be there once the fire is out and the ashes have cooled enough for us to return.”

She sighs.  “I know.  It’s just...I’m tired of the insecurity.”

“Well, we’re in a castle now, my lady.” Jaime says, lifting her hand to his lips and brushing a kiss against her knuckles.  He gives her a smirk.  “Can’t get much more secure than that.”

She rolls her eyes but can’t help but smile back at him.  “Just remember that castles fall, _my lord,_ if you’re not careful.”

Jaime kisses her.  “Then let us be careful.”

*/*/*/*/*

The wind picks up that night, howling in gusts round the White Sword Tower, and in the morning, the plains between the forest and King’s Landing are burning.

*/*/*/*/*

They go out in groups of four to scavenge through as many houses as they can, as quickly as they can.

That’s when they find their first survivors.

Three filthy, semi-feral-looking children, the oldest not much more than thirteen or fourteen.  Lommy, he calls himself, and the boy with him is Hot Pie, and the silent girl clinging to Hot Pie’s hand is called Weasel.  She looks to be no more than five years old and Brienne thinks it’s a miracle she’s still alive.

She shifts her gaze from the three children to Jaime, who looks for all the world like a little boy presenting three half-starved kittens to his mother while begging her to let him keep them.

Something gives way inside her.

“I fucking love you, Jaime Lannister,” she says with a resigned sigh and is rewarded with his eyes lighting up as a grin spreads across his face.

She turns to the new children.  “Right.  Let’s get you settled then.”

*/*/*/*/*

“Next time, can you find adults?” she says that night in their bedchamber, her head resting against his chest.

His chuckle rumbles against her ear.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

*/*/*/*/*

Adults find them instead. 

Four of them.  Two couples:  three men and one woman, and after mutually cautious negotiations, guns at the ready on both sides, they come to an even more cautious agreement.  The newcomers settle in the Tower of the Hand, their meagre food supplies are added to what was brought from the forest, and their much-needed bodies are put to work guarding the castle.

*/*/*/*/*

The fire eats its way closer until it finally reaches the outskirts of the ruined city.  As building after building begins to smoulder then burn, more and more of those who had clung to survival in the dark houses and basements creep to the Red Keep, begging for safety from the flames.  One day, a group of fourteen—on _horses—_ approach the gate.

Jaime and Brienne run to meet them, guns at the ready.

“By the gods,” the leader says, a tall man, red-haired and thin, “Jaime fucking Lannister.”

Jaime’s eyes widen.  “ _Addam?_   Addam Marbrand?”

The stranger laughs.  “What’s left of him, aye.”  His grin is sincere even if his eyes are wary.  “How did you end up here?”

“The same way you did:  by accident.”  Jaime looks at the motley crew behind Addam.  “ _Horses?_ ”

Addam nods almost proudly.  “Thank the gods for hobby farmers, Jaime.  There are a couple herds currently running wild in the Riverlands...if those assholes ever stop killing them long enough.”

“Which assholes?” Brienne asks sharply.

Addam gives her an assessing look.  “Pick a group.  The Mountain’s Men; Brotherhood without Banners; Bloody Mummers.  They’re all doing their best to destroy the Riverlands and everything in it.”  He cranes his neck to look up at the towering walls of the Red Keep.  “They’ll eventually come here, when they’ve run out of sport elsewhere.”

“We know,” Jaime says, and orders the portcullis to be raised.

*/*/*/*/*

“How are we going to feed everyone?” Brienne says as they pace the wall.  It’s finally begun to rain, dampening the ashes of the burned out forest, and slowing the spread of fire within the city walls.

Jaime gestures towards the Blackwater Bay and the ocean beyond.  “Think we can find some boats?”

*/*/*/*/*

They learn to ride, forcing themselves to continue even though their bodies ache and some days they can barely make it up the stairs of the White Sword Tower to their bed.

Jaime leads Addam and several others back to the settlement to rescue whatever survived in their root cellar and cistern, and Addam tells him they found some cattle roaming freely near what remains of Rosby.

“And who knows what we might find in the Reach,” Jaime says to Brienne in the privacy of their bed the night they return from herding a half dozen cattle back to the Red Keep.  “We’re talking about going on a scouting mission in the spring.”

She rolls on her side and looks at him, her eyes luminous in the moonlight shining through the window.  “I’ll go with you,” she says.

Jaime reaches out and gently strokes her cheek.  “You’re needed here,” he says softly.  “You’re the one holding all of this together.”

Even in the dark, Jaime can see she blushes.  “No, I’m not.  It’s you.”

“I’m the Kingslayer.  People are afraid of me and that makes them obey me—but they trust you.”

“Then they need both of us.”

He pulls her close and buries his face in her neck.  “Please don’t ask me to rule,” he whispers against her warm skin.

Her arms are strong and sure as she holds him.  “You’re already ruling, Jaime,” she whispers in his ear, “and if you can risk yourself by riding off for gods know how long, into gods know what kind of danger, then I can go with you and make sure you make it back in one piece.”

*/*/*/*/*

The sad part, Jaime thinks, is that she’s right.  As their population continues to slowly grow, he and Brienne are spending more and more of their time adjudicating minor disputes, ordering people around, working with everyone to ensure there’s enough food for the winter, and making sure no one within the Red Keep is a danger to anyone else.  They’ve even become diplomats, making contact with the other two settlements on Rhaenys’ Hill and the Hill of Visenya before they went on their mission to Rosby.

The survivors who trickle into the Red Keep range from half-starved, desperate people who approach the gate without much hope and who literally no longer care if they live or die to those who have begun to hear rumors there’s safety to be found behind the thick, red walls.

Their settlement is made up of almost a hundred people now, although more than half of them are under the age of twenty.  With the other two settlements, there are less than three hundred people in a city that once housed a million souls.

Some days, when he thinks about where he is and what he’s doing, Jaime honestly doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry.

*/*/*/*/*

“You need to call a Great Council,” Addam tells him.  The air has turned cool and the crisp of winter is in the air.

“You know better than that,” Jaime says with a scowl.

“We have eighty-three people here now, Jaime, and they’re all looking to you and Brienne for leadership.  Right now, they’re still willing to follow you, but we need to make it official.  We need to declare someone as King before someone else decides to simply take the Throne by force.”

Jaime shakes his head.  “I’m the Kingslayer, remember?  Not a King...but I will support Brienne as Queen.”  He shakes his head.  “Not that she’ll like that.”

“You’re both already doing the job,” Addam says.  “We just need to make it _real_.”

Jaime scowls.  “I’ll talk to her.”

*/*/*/*/*

The night before the Great Council he takes Brienne to the Throne Room, more for his own moral support than because he really wants her to see it.

They pace the length of the room, their lanterns held high, and they’re almost at the foot of the dais when Jaime sees that that ugly fucking chair really is still there.  King Rhaegar truly had tried to distance himself from _everything_ to do with his father.

They stop at the foot of the stairs, staring up at that monstrosity.  It used to be intimidating, Jaime thinks, and now it’s just...nothing more than a waste of good swords.

“I killed him here, you know,” he says, and his voice feels dampened by the silence and the dim light and the dust.

“I know,” she says.

“The official story is that I killed him in self-defense after he attacked me.”

“I know.  There were conspiracy theories, saying you were trying to usurp the Throne for yourself.  But the real reason you were condemned in the public eye was because you were his Kingsguard.  Your job was to die for the King, if need be.  Most people thought you should have let him kill you.”

Jaime’s smile is bittersweet.

“People always had a romanticized view of the Kingsguard, including me.  Highly trained men and women in dark suits and sunglasses, willing to take a bullet for the royal family.”  He stares at the Iron Throne with a twisted smile.  “I was very proud, you know.  I was the youngest person ever to be accepted into the Kingsguard and it was exciting and sobering to be given such a high honor, to be by the King’s side wherever he went.  I would have gladly died for him.  At first.

“Nobody warned me just how mad King Aerys truly was.  Nobody warned me about what he did to his wife, or his enemies, or just how paranoid he was.”  He turns and deliberate looks into her eyes.  “It wasn’t self-defense.”

Brienne says nothing, just silently watches him.

“He was getting increasingly paranoid.  His political enemies were quietly... _disappearing_.  He thankfully never asked me to do anything in that respect, but he didn’t trust me.  I had been to Essos, you see, and he was increasingly convinced Essos was plotting to attack him.  Not Westeros— _him_.  Personally.”  Jaime shrugs.  “He may not have been entirely wrong in that respect, at least.  If he had trusted in his Kingsguard, or if the Kingsguard hadn’t turned away while he committed his worst offenses or if his useless son had grown a set of balls and taken steps to depose his father before things got so completely out of hand...”  He shakes his head.  “Doesn’t matter now.  Aerys decided Essos was plotting against him, and worse:  had planted traitors throughout Westeros—but especially in King’s Landing itself.  He was being attacked…but _he_ had the launch codes for Westeros’ nuclear arsenal.”

Brienne pulls in a sharp breath.

“Burn them all, he said.  I think he believed the mythology of the Targaryen family, believed he would be reborn from the ashes as a true dragon.”

“He was going to bomb his own kingdom?”

Jaime’s lips twist into a bitter smile.  “I tried to arrest him.  It didn’t go well.”

“So, in a way it _was_ self-defense.”

He huffs something that might have been a laugh.  “Don’t try to excuse it,” he says, shaking his head.  “He didn’t attack me.  I shot him quite... _deliberately_.  It was... _easier_.”

He turns and looks at her.

“You deserve a better man to love you, Brienne.”

Brienne looks at him and in the dim blow of their lanterns, her eyes are large and luminous, calm, and almost as beautiful as she is.  Her lips quirk into a slight smile before she leans in and gently kisses him.

“You’re a good man, Jaime Lannister, and you’re the only man I want to love me,” she whispers, then moves into his arms and kisses him again.

*/*/*/*/*

To absolutely no one’s surprise—except perhaps their own—the Great Council officially names Jaime and Brienne the King and Queen of the Red Keep.  They reluctantly accept the honor, then they have a small feast, officially name their Small Council, and life immediately returns to their new normal.

Jaime snickers as he eagerly helps Brienne out of her clothes that night.

“What’s so funny?” she asks.

“I was hoping to be known as the Queen’s Consort rather than King,” Jaime says.

She frowns.  “Why?”

Jaime’s grin is wicked as he presses her down onto the bed. “Because being a Consort sounds really sexy,” he says and kisses her.

*/*/*/*/*


End file.
